


Favourite Scar

by Cassiara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Harry, Bottom!Harry, Canonical Character Death, Complete, Depression, Falling In Love, Fred Weasley Lives, Friendship/Love, HP: EWE, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Recovery, Romance, Self-Harm, Self-Harming Harry, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slytherin Harry, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Tattooed Harry, Voldemort Dies, depressed!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-07-22 21:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 65,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7454788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassiara/pseuds/Cassiara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sirius dies in Harry's fifth year Harry decides to die. His failed suicide attempt leaves him in a coma for three years. When he wakes up he discovers the suicide attempt wasn't the end, it was the beginning. The beginning of depression, and a long fight against it. The start of an unexpected friendship, and maybe the start of something more. </p><p>This story is not a very happy one, at least not at first. Trigger warning for depression, self harm and suicidal thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire story contains a lot of triggers for self harm, suicide and depression. Please don't continue reading if you feel it isn't good for your well-being. I wrote this story so that people who've never experienced things like this can understand it better, and so that me and others that understand it too well can feel less alone. I really don't want it to be harmful to anyone, so please be careful.

 

Harry runs from Dumbledores office not really knowing where he’s headed. He just knows he can’t be anywhere near that old man anymore. He can’t be near anyone. His mind is racing with thoughts to the point where he no longer even knows what he’s thinking, and all he feels is hatred and anger. Frustrated he lifts his hands to push hair out of his eyes, and is surprised when he feels a wetness. Looking down he discovers his hands are littered with small cuts and droplets of blood oozing from them. It takes him a moment before realising his trashing of Dumbledores office had to have been more aggressive and distructive than he realised at the time. He had just wanted to break things, ruin it. To make everything around him match how he felt on the inside. He wanted to stop hurting the way he did. Harry scoffed remembering what Dumbledore had told him “feeling like this is what makes you human”, if that was true then Harry stood by his decision. He didn’t want to be human anymore, he didn’t even want to be alive, nor had he wanted to for some time.

Sirius is dead, just like his mom and dad. And just like with his parents, Harry knows it’s all his fault. Tears stinging Harry turns to the wall next to him and punches it. A feeling of raw despair wells up in him. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s so tired and everything just feels impossible. He wants to scream and shout and wreck the whole bloody school, he wants to lie down and sleep for ages, he wants to jump off the astronomy tower. He wants to run away, wand blazing and blast Voldemort off the face of the planet. His head feels like it’s about to explode so he latches on to the thought of Voldemort. 

Harry had been possessed by Voldemort earlier that day, and something about it had just felt wrong, like Voldemort was divided somehow. And now that Harry thought about it he realised he already knew that. The part of Voldemort he’d met his second year had been very different than the one that had been resurrected. They hadn’t even shared the same memories. Had Voldemort somehow split himself, his soul? Thinking back to what Dumbledore had told Harry in his office Harry knew it was his job to kill Voldemort. An idea struck him, and he tried to push it away because it couldn’t be that simple. Harry knew that it was his pain of losing Sirius, and his love for his friends that made Voldemort break the possession. But was it possible, that if Voldemort could leave his body to possess Harry, that Harry could force him to do so again? And could the love and pain that had protected Harry earlier be used to keep Voldemort in? A sigh of relief washes through Harry as he considers this. If he can pull Voldemort in to himself, and hold him there until he himself dies, then Voldemort will be vanquished. Voldemort will be dead and the world will be free. And Harry can stop feeling, can stop being in pain. He won’t have to wake up every morning wishing he hadn’t, or be afraid to fall asleep because the idea of another day is too exhausting. He won’t have to go back to the Dursleys, won’t have to face another summer where no one cares. No one else will have to die for him. He will be free, and the world will be safe. 

As if in a trance, finally feeling calm for what feels like the first time, Harry makes his way to the prefects bathroom. Thinking back, he remembers the password Ron had whispered to him despite Hermione’s disapproving glare. Summer beach he mutters quietly and enters the bathroom. Ron and Hermione will be allright, they’ll have each other, and they won’t have to worry about him anymore. And even better, he will no longer constantly be putting them in danger. Turning the many tabs to the small pool in the room Harry finally voices his idea to himself. “I’m going to kill myself, and I’m bringing Voldemort with me”. He supposes that should make him feel something; scared, sad or relieved, but the raging thoughts and emotions of before has turned into calm, quiet resolution. 

Slowly undressing, Harry considers his plan further. It really is perfect. No one will suspect he’s killing himself because he’s depressed. Because he knows he doesn’t deserve to live in the first place. They will all think it’s some heroic act to save the world and kill Voldemort. He takes off his boxers before he reconsiders it, he really doesn’t want to be found naked. Laughing a little at the absurd thought of caring about modesty when he’ll be dead in a few minutes Harry pulls them back on. Grabbing his wand, he considers writing a note, but it just doesn’t feel right. Let people think what they want, mourn for a while and then move on. He steps into the pool, closes his eyes and searches his mind. He knows his connection to Voldemort is in there somewhere, all he has to do is find it. Minutes later his searching thoughts come across what feels like a black ball of hatred and madness, and Harry knows he’s found it. Almost smiling to himself he pulls his wand, briefly considers that he will die even if it doesn’t work and feels bad for the world having to deal with Voldemort if he fails, then he casts Incarcero on himself and feels ropes tying him to the bottom of the pool. He lets go of his wand to let it float away, he doesn’t want the chance to change his mind. Knowing he doesn’t have much time he prods the black ball in his head with his thoughts, and feels it explode. The Voldemort he knows comes first, rushing though his scar and into his head, and Harry builds a wall of pain and emotion to keep him from escaping. Realising this part of Voldemort isn’t the only one Harry prods the ball again and again, feeling sharp and ragged pieces of another conciseness come into his own mind. Eventually there are no more parts, and the ball disappears completely from Harrys mind. Tightening the cage he has built of his own emotions Harry finally allows himself to realise the pain of his burning lungs. He tries opening his eyes, but black spots cover his vision. Feeling Voldemort trying to break out of Harry’s bonds he lists people in his head. Mom, Dad, Sirius, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Cedric, Arthur, Sirius, Sirius. Pain washes over him and he uses it to keep Voldemort in. His vision keeps getting darker, and even though he knows the room is well lit he can’t see it anymore. His lungs are screaming for air, and Harry wants to take a breath to make it end faster, but he can’t bring himself to open his mouth to the water in the small pool. His body starts to convulse, and something in him finally shifts and he takes a breath. 

Water fills his lungs and pain flares. He tries to couch but that just pulls more water into his lungs. His vision has gone all black now, and he doesn’t even know if his eyes are open anymore. Panicking in full Harry thinks of his parents and of Sirius, and then finally blacks out. 

 

***

 

Harry wakes up in a soft bed, surrounded by white lights that make his eyes hurt even though they’re still closed. Is this how heaven workes then? He feels rested, and his body doesn’t hurt, but the emotional pain is still there. He still misses his parents and Sirius, he still hates himself. He still feels as if there is a dark metaphorical cloud trying to squeeze him into nothing. Something is very wrong, he needs to see his parents, and Sirius. Maybe then he’ll finally feel better. Harry opens his eyes, and finds himself staring at a white roof.  
Looking around the room Harry slowly realises he’s in St. Mungo's. Abruptly sitting up black spots swarm his vision again as he desperately denies what he sees. No, no, no, no, NO! Why is he here, why is he alive? He was supposed to have died. He searches his head and finds no trace of Voldemort, so at least he had succeeded in killing him. That however, means that Harry had been dead. He had died, and someone had found him and brought him back to life. Thinking fast, Harry realises he needs to convince everybody that he’s happy to be alive. That the only reason he was trying to kill himself was to kill Voldemort. If he can make people believe that, then he can try again. He can die and join Sirius and his parents.

"Hello? Anybody there?" Harry calls out. His voice feeling strangely hoarse, but he supposes that’s what drowning does to you. 

A nurse comes running through the door, and appears shocked at seeing him. Something really is strange. Doesn’t the staff even know who their patients are?

"You're... you're awake?!" she finally exclaims, eyes darting wildly from him to the door. 

Harry sighs, irritation flaring in him again. "Yes well obviously I'm awake, I'm sitting here talking to you right?" He immediately feels bad for snapping at her, he really isn’t worth the dirt on her shoes, and he still can’t control his anger. 

The nurse doesn’t seem fazed though, simply continuing to stare at him, mouth opening and closing as if she wants to say something, but doesn’t know how. A thought suddenly strikes Harry. If she’s this surprised to see him awake, he must have been out of it for a long time. 

"How long have I been out?" he asks, not really sure if he wants to know the answer, and not sure why he cares. He does plan on being dead as soon as he gets out of here anyways, doesn’t he?  
Harry can see that the nurse is visibly trying to gather herself.

"I really think you should see your mediwizard. I'll call for him." She says, eyes shooting towards the door.

Suddenly angry Harry demands; "NO! How long have I been out?"

The nurse is really looking nervous now, and Harry feels bad again. He sees her draw her wand, probably to call a mediwizard. He feels suddenly afraid that she won’t answer. How bad can it possibly be?

"ANSWER ME!" Harry yells out, before he even realises he’s decided to do it.

"Three years, you're 18 now. You have been in a coma for three years. We didn't think you would ever wake up." The nurse blurts, and then looks completely aghast at herself for spilling. 

The information silences Harry. He had been in a coma for three years? He doesn’t feel like he’s been in a coma, but then again, he is in a magic hospital. They probably had ways to feed him and keep his muscles in shape. Harry doesn’t feel any different either, but he had never really been a «kid», he supposes 18 fits better with his personality. He had been forced to grow up really fast because of Voldemort. And besides, Harry reminds himself. It doesn’t matter, because he won’t be alive long anyway.

Suddenly a healer comes barging in, taking out his wand on his way to Harrys bed. He starts running all sorts of checks on Harry. Talking between spells about how Harry is perfectly healthy, but the lack of oxygen put him in a coma, and magic really doesn’t work that well for healing brains “some things just have to heal by themselves you know?” He smiles, and Harry just looks away. His brain doesn’t really like healing itself he thinks, if it isn’t to torture him with being alive. 

“My dear boy” the healer says when he’s finally stopped casting all sorts of spells, “Do you remember what happened?”. 

Harry ignores the overly concerned look from the older man and simply nods. He really doesn’t feel like explaining it. He wants to go back to sleep, preferably back in the coma. 

“Oh how wonderful, the aurors will be by shortly to talk to you, I do hope you’re feeling up to it” the man says with a grin. 

"What do you mean? Why do I have to talk to them?" Harry askes. What does aurors have to do with his suicide attempt? Is that somehow illegal, or do they need to talk to him about Voldemort?

"They just have some questions about what happened to you," the healer says. Harry’s annoyed again and he scowls, no one ever answers his questions. He literally isn’t a kid anymore. 

"We have notified your friends that you're awake, and I'm sure they will be here any second now." The healer says reassuringly, as though he suspects a lack of concerned friends is the reason for Harrys foul mood.

Harry forcibly removes the scowl from his face. He needs to convince his friends that he hadn’t tried to kill himself, he had only tried to kill Voldemort. Just as he prepares himself to fake his usual smile and enthusiasm he hears Hermione's voice.

"Harry, HARRY. Let me through, let me see him! I don't want to hear about all of that stuff. I just want to see Harry!" Harry finds himself smiling a genuine smile, it’s so typical of Hermione to yell like that when she’s stressed.

Harry patently listens to some feeble attempts by the nurses outside to keep her out, and then she comes barging through the doors.

"Harry!" Hermione calls out in glee and throws herself at him.

"Hermione careful, he only just woke up." Harry looks up to see Ron standing in the doorway. He sends him another genuine smile before being ambushed by Hermione again. He realises that despite his disappointment at his failed suicide, he is glad to see his friends. 

"Harry, how are you?" Hermione askes as she eventually lets go of Harry and sits at the side of his bed.

"I'm great," Harry grins, faking it now. "I'm alive". Harry’s had a lot of practice with faking and doing it now wasn't really as big of a problem as he had first thought.

Really looking at his friends for the first time since they entered the room Harry realises that they both look older, they’re still his friends, but he realises with a bang of sadness that they’ve grown up without him. After chatting pointlessly for a while, just catching up on their lives he can see Hermione getting more and more agitated. 

“Ok so I do realise I’ve been out of it for a while, but I do know you. What’s wrong?” he asks Hermione, exchanging a glance with Ron. 

"Oh Harry, we need your help! They think Malfoy tried to kill you. They think that he tried to drown you, and that Voldemort just dropped dead by coincidence. That's not true is it? You scarified yourself to kill Voldemort? Right Harry?" Hermione’s blurts, nervously wringing her hands. 

"What!? They think Malfoy tried to kill me? Why? And yes, I did sacrifice myself to kill Voldemort, I realised I could do that when he possessed me. But really, people think Malfoy tried to kill me?" Hermione smiled like she always did when she got something right.

"He says he came into the prefect’s bathroom and found you tied to the bottom of the pool. He untied you and pulled you out. He then did CPR until someone came to help. People think he tried to kill you, and just cowered out at the last second. He's in Azkaban. He's been there for three years. Thank Merlin they got rid of the dementors after Voldemort died!" At this point Hermione has to stop to take a breath, something Ron is quick to take advantage of.

"Hermione, love, you're overwhelming him. He just woke up." 

"Love?" Harry says with a small smile and watches as Ron’s ears turn red. 

"Yeah, well we're kinda, sortof, you know, together." Ron mumbles, taking a sudden interest in his shoes.  
Harry grins at him. "Congrats mate! And you too Hermione. That’s really great."

Ron shoots Harry a relieved and thankful smile before he turns to Hermione with a love-struck look. Harry can almost see the tiny hearts floating around their heads. Turning away he pushes the call button the healer had shown him earlier. He really is happy for Ron and Hermione, but he doesn’t need them to start writing sonnets in his presence.

Seconds later a nurse comes rushing into the room. Harry immediately addresses her. "I need my wand, some clothes, and I want to talk to the aurors." He needs to fix this mess before he dies. How can people even think Malfoy of all people would try to kill him, and then just change his mind half way through? Malfoy is a dick sure, but not a bloody murderer. He shouldn’t suffer for Harrys idiotic attempt at a suicide, even though it is his fault it failed.

The nurse looks hesitant. "The healer said I was fine, so surely I can have my clothes!" Harry tells her, and the nurse just nods before leaving the room.  
At Hermione’s accusing stare Harry exclaims; "I need to fix this! Malfoy saved my life, and they imprisoned him? What's wrong with people?" Harry wasn't particularly pleased with being saved, but it was still a nice thing to do. 

"I know Harry, I know. Me, the Weasleys and Dumbledore tried to defend him, but the rest of the world is convinced. The only reason he's still alive is because they need you to confirm that he did try to kill you." Harry was angry, something was seriously wrong with people. "Well then they will be disappointed!" he says grimly.

Ron and Hermione stayed for a few hours, telling Harry about what else he had missed in his three years of coma. They had both graduated Hogwarts. Hermione had gotten a job in the ministry of magic. This had first angered Harry, but he then realised that they really needed some good people in that place.

Ron was studying to become an auror. He said it was hard, but he really enjoyed it. Other than that Harry hadn't missed much. They told him that Ginny was engaged to someone named Ben, and then that Cho was dating this quidditch player. It looked like they wanted some reaction from Harry on the last one, but he didn't mind. He had never really liked Cho anyway, he just really tried to like her, so he could be normal.

After his friends leaves Harry sleeps for a few hours (despite his belief that it would be impossible after sleeping for three years), and then he’s woken up by a nurse, telling him the aurors are there. She gives him some robes, and tells him he can get dressed and go to the room next door where the aurors are waiting in an office. 

Harry stands up, and the world immediately starts spinning. Ok, getting up that fast after lying for three years is apparently a bad idea. He waits for the world to stop spinning and then tries to stand again, this time a lot slower. When he’s finally on his feet he puts his robes on, and slowly walks to the office where the aurors are waiting. A grand total of four aurors Harry’s never seen before are there there, all with grim looks on their faces. 

"Hi Harry, I'm auror Thompson. This is aurors Skillet, Rolstein and Twixter. Now, we don't need you to tell us all about this traumatic experience you’ve endured as we believe we have most of the details in order." Thompson took a deep breath. "But we do need us to confirm who did this to you."

Harry looks Thompson in the eye, as he seems to be the one in charge. "I did this to myself. I realised that if I died, I could take Voldemort with me, so I sacrificed myself."  
Saying that he sacrifices himself tastes like shit in Harrys mouth going out. He didn’t sacrifice himself, he wanted to die, but no one can ever know that. Upon hearing his words four pairs of shocked eyes stare at him. 

"I understand that Draco Malfoy was blamed for this, that is wrong. In fact, Malfoy is the reason I'm still alive. You will release him, and offer a public apology, telling the world what really happened. Is that understood?" Harry feels weird using authority like that, but he knows he can. He’s the bloody boy who lived! The aurors all stand up immediately.  
"Yes of course mister Potter, at once mister Potter." They all hurry out of the room faster than Harry could have said quidditch.

Back in his room Harry thinks, now that he has sorted that, he’s free to die. Except he isn’t, not really. The first time he had attempted, no one knew he wanted to die. This time everyone would know. Could he do that to the people he loved? They would feel so guilty for not noticing. So guilty for not saving him. Harry figures he isn’t worth that, he can’t let people hurt, just for him to be happy. He doesn’t deserve to be happy. His parents and Sirius died because of him, it was his fault. Why would they even want to meet him again? No, Harry can’t kill himself, because he doesn’t deserve that freedom.

Coming to that realisation ruins the calm Harry found when he decided to die. All his self-hatred, pain and guilt floods back in. He needs to find a way to not feel this. He can’t deal with it. He desperately looks around the room and his gaze falls on a pair of scissors on the nightstand next to him. They’re probably something Hermione’s used to cut his hair. She likes to do that the muggle way. Harry remembers the pain he has suffered his entire life. How he had welcomed Dudley hitting him, because then he could focus on the pain, and not the hurting words. Harry grabs the scissors and daws his robe back. He’s seen someone do this in a muggle movie Dudley had watched once. He needs to see if it works, because he really needs something, anything that will work. 

Harry press the scissors to his arm and pulls. A stinging, but dull pain replaces the scissors and Harry feels like he can breathe again. The pain isn’t bad, but it’s enough to let Harry focus on that, to allow him to let go of the painful thoughts. A few small drops of blood appear on his arm, but it really isn’t a deep cut, more like a scrape. Harry smiles, this really worked. His mind fells calm again. Still smiling he puts some paper on the cut and falls asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so english isn't my first language, and I'd really appreciate comments to help me sort out any mistakes I might have made


	2. Splatter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this really is quite a depressing story, I'm just gonna warn you now. But I'm trying to represent how depression isn't always just drowning in the black water. How sometimes it can be doing something utterly random to try and feel a bit better. As always I'll really appreciate any comments, especially suggestions for mistakes I've missed.

When he wakes up it’s dark, and he doesn’t know what woke him. That at least, is until a hand strokes his hair down, as if trying to fix his unruly curls. He opens his eyes and the hand quickly disappears, looking through the room his green eyes soon meet startled grey ones.

“Malfoy” he splutters, shifting away as far as the bed allows.

"Potter, I just wanted to say thank you, for getting me out of that horrible place. I really thought I'd spend the rest of my life there" Malfoy looks genuine, his grey eyes shining. Harry can’t really stop looking into them, how does he look so happy, so alight. He’s just spent three years in the worst place in the world.

Malfoy shifts uncomfortably and Harry realises he’s still staring into Malfoys eyes. He immediately stops and looks at his hands, picking at a hangnail and feeling suddenly grateful someone’s kept his nails filed short.

"Er, yeah, you don't have to thank me, you saved my life. I should be thanking you!" He says, still not looking up.

"Except you won't thank me, will you? Because you didn't want to be saved, you wanted to die."

Harry glances up and Malfoy shoots him a smile, but something in his eyes makes it look sad.

Harry’s shocked, how had Malfoy known that? Even Ron and Hermione hadn’t guessed. And Malfoy doesn’t even like him.

"What, no, I didn't want to die. I wanted to kill Voldemort." Harry protests, somewhat feebly. Somehow it’s a lot harder to lie to someone who claims to know the truth.

"We both know you could have done that without dying, Harry. I know what it's like. You were trying to kill yourself."

Harry just stares at Malfoy, he wants to say something, to convince the other boy he’s wrong, but he can’t seem to focus on a thought long enough to speak it.

Malfoy had said his name, not Potter, but Harry. And he knew, he KNEW, and he said he knew how it felt. Had he wanted to die to? Still to confused to speak Harry opens his mouth, only to close it again a second later.

"Don't worry Harry, I won't tell anyone, as long as you promise not to do it again. I don't really fancy another stay at Azkaban." Malfoy smiles that sad smile again.

"You called me Harry," is suddenly all Harry can say, because Malfoy has just done it again.

"Well that is your name, isn't it?" Malfoy says, grey eyes glinting with amusement.

"Yeah, but you always call me Potter." Harry tries to say it as a question as much as a statement.

"I think saving your life gives me the right to use your first name, don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Thanks Draco. For saving my life." Malfoy smiles, a genuine smile this time, not one with a sad glow in his eyes. Harry tries very hard not to notice how different it makes him look. He’s never seen a genuine smile on Malfoy’s face.

"So what will you do now?" Harry askes, suddenly curious. "You must have missed the last two years of Hogwarts because of me, right?" Draco looks a little sad at this.

"Yeah well, Dumbledore believed me all along, and he promised me that when I got out I had a place waiting for me at Hogwarts. It will kinda suck though, to be three years older than everyone else in my class."

An idea suddenly occurs to Harry, he doesn’t really have anything to do, or anywhere to stay, so why not go back to Hogwarts? If Malfoy doesn’t want to be alone there it’s the least he can do right?

"Well, if you want, I can come with you" He offers, a little nervous that Malfoy will yell something about rather being alone than with him. No such thing happens though, instead Malfoy smiles.

"That would be amazing Harry. I guess I'll see you in a month and a half when the year starts then." Malfoy says as he gets up to leave, and Harry realises light has started shining through the window when it reflects of the blond hair framing the other boys face.

"You've really changed, haven't you?" he asks, thinking of the sour faced boy he used to know. Malfoy, or maybe Draco now just smiles secretly. "Yeah, I guess I did." Draco says by way of goodbye and walks out of Harrys room.

Harry shifts in bed again, trying to get comfortable, as he does he feels his arm sting and remembers the cut he made the day before. He knows he shouldn’t enjoy the feeling, and he feels immensely guilty that something in him does. What the hell is wrong with him? Tries, and fails to commit suicide and then cuts his arm with scissors the moment he wakes up. Why does he have to be so weak? It isn’t even a real cut, it hardly bled when he did it. If he fails at living and fails at dying what’s left for him to do? Frustration and despair prickles up in him, like someone has poked a hole in the wall Harry has built to keep his emotion at bay. He feels guilty and horrible for cutting himself, and the only thing he can think of to make himself feel better is to cut again. So he does, picking up the scissors he draws back his shirt, looks at the pathetic scratch from the previous day before angrily dragging the scissors across his skin just below it. It isn’t perfect, or deep. But it’s better than the one he made the day before, and it works. The pain and blood is control, and it mends the holes in his wall so he can function again.

A few hours later Harry hears another commotion in the hallway before Molly comes bursting in, throwing herself at Harry in a manner similar to how Hermione had done the day before.

“Oh Harry. Oh my sweet boy. I’ve been so worried, we’ve all been so worried. Oh and you’re so thin, have you been eating since you woke up?” She steps away and produces a giant package from her purse, subtly drying her eyes of the few tears that escaped.

“Here you go my sweet Harry, it’s your favourite!” Harry smiles in thanks, trying to remember what his favourite even is anymore. Food stopped tasting much a while ago, he’s saved from saying anything however, because seconds later the rest of the Weasley family comes through the doors.

Fred and George enter first, both wearing a matching pair of bright purple muggle suits. “Harry!” they call in unison. “Finally decided to join us did you? Really how mum still complains about us sleeping to late is beyond me” Fred says. “Yeah, you sleep for three years and get a pie, we sleep for three hours and get an earful” George continues.

“Boys!’ Molly admonishes, but Harry just smiles. He appreciates someone to diffuse the tension. They spend the rest of the afternoon in Harrys room, telling him more about what he’s missed. Fred and Georges joke shop has apparently really taken off, and they are, as Ron puts it, “hauling in galleons by the bucketful”. Ginny tells him about her offer to play for the Harpies, and Molly proudly tells Harry about Percys new job as secretary to the new minister, Kingsley.

By the time they leave Harrys exhausted. He’s also horrified to find himself feeling bad at his friends’ accomplishments. They all moved on, they did things with their lives while he is still stuck. And he also feels disgusted when he realises he doesn’t like that they were all able to move on so easily without him. It’s what he wanted, what he still wants, but he didn’t expect it to hurt so much to see it. And he still can’t kill himself, because even though they’ve moved on, it would still cause them pain. And he promised Malfoy, or Draco, somehow Malfoy doesn’t fit the boy who visited him earlier that morning.

A week later Harry’s free to leave the hospital. The week has been filled with numerous Weasleys, several healers and the scissors crossing his skin several more times. He’s also spent a lot of time thinking about how much Draco has changed, even finding himself dreaming about the other boy. He considers if thinking this much about Draco really makes him the freak he’s always suspected he is, but he forcibly pushes the thoughts from his head, sometimes with assistance from the scissors.

Harrys arm now has a nice row of cuts, and even though he knows he shouldn't be cutting himself, he can’t bring himself to stop. Taking whatever pain and anger he feels out on himself helps him not let his emotions affect others, and when he cuts he doesn’t really have to feel it himself either. Harry pulls his sweater down over his cuts and surveys his new apartment.

When he was discharged from the hospital Harry hadn’t really known where to go. He had arranged with Dumbledore that he would start Hogwarts in September, but he still needed somewhere to stay until that. Ron and Hermione had offered to take him in, but he didn't want to impose on them, and if he’s honest he really didn’t think he could pretend to be ok all the time. There was no way he was going back to the Dursleys or Grimmauld place, because those places held nothing but horrible memories for him. Harry had stood outside St. Mungos with the school suitcase that held all his belongings, and had suddenly realised that he had money. He had quite a lot of money. He could buy a place to live. Nothing big, just a small flat. Something that was his, somewhere he could be alone when he wanted to. He didn't want to live in central wizard London, he was still too famous among wizards, but he didn't want to live in a muggle place either.

From there Harry made his way to a real-estate shop in Diagon alley and made his wishes clear. Not to central, not to distant, and he wanted to move in on the day. They found him a place an hour later, furnished and all. It was perfect. Ten minutes walking distance from Diagon alley, but it was kind of a back alley, so he wouldn't be disturbed. Harry figures he’s probably payed way to much for the one bedroom flat, but he can’t bring himself to care as he surveys his surroundings. There is a living room with a couch and a table, a bedroom with a bed, and kitchen with all appliances. There’s even a bathtub in the bathroom.

Walking to the kitchen and opening each cupboard to look for something inside them he realises he needs to go shopping. If nothing else he’s going to need some toilet paper and a few groceries. Harry exchanged some galleons into muggle money when he was at the bank paying for his flat, so he heads to the small muggle shop just a few minutes’ walk from his flat. Filling his cart with food he realises he also needs some hygiene stuff, as he hasn’t washed his hair properly since he woke up and his stubble is starting to get really bad. He’s sure his facial hair didn’t grow this fast before the coma. Harry takes his his time choosing a good razor to shave with, and then some good blades. He stands there marvelling at the sharp edge, wondering what wonderful damage he can do with it. Then he shakes himself and picks out the rest of the items on his mental shopping list.

Safe back in his flat he sits on his new couch and swears at the cloud of dust that rises up aroud him. He’s halfway to getting a broom when he realises he’s 18, almost 19 and he can now freely use magic. Cleaning goes fast after that, even though he’s pretty sure he’s used all the wrong cleaning spells. He sits back down on the couch and and takes a razorblade out of the new pack. He plays with it for a while, twinning it in his fingers and watching how it reflects the light. Then puls up his sleeve and makes a swift cut below the row of old ones. Pain shoots through Harrys arm, and oh, it feels amazing. The sharp edge of the razor has done a much better job of slicing through his skin, and the cut is a lot deeper than any he’s made with the scissors. Harry presses a tissue to the cut, and sighs with pleasure as all his pain and suffering slips out along with the blood.

There’s more blood now than there had been with the scissors. It’s still not a lot, but now it’s enough to run down his hand in small streams when he removes the tissue paper. Harry watches it fascinated, and realises he loves it. Revelling in the new sensation and relief of it Harry marvels at the brilliance of the razor. The scissors had dulled the pain, the razor took it away. Harry makes another cut, slower this time. Wanting to to feel his skin rip apart, to almost hear the sound of the razor on his flesh, to feel the hot blood running down his chilled arm. This time the pain is slower, but somehow deeper. When he lifts the razor his skin split apart. He had never cut that deep before, the scissors where just too dull. Harry smiles in sick glee, loving how he can control how he feels. He’s never been able to control anything in his life, but this, this he can control.

Harry wakes up the next day with a stinging in his arm. Through the haze of sleep he can’t remember where it came from, but when he does he feels ashamed again. He’s cutting himself! For real this time, not just with scissors, but with an actual razor. To the point where his sheets where now bloodstained after the deepest cut had opened up again during the night. He’s ruining his own body, making himself bleed. How pathetic isn’t that? How utterly pathetic he is, to have to resort to cutting. Feeling was stressed and ashamed Harry presses his fingers to last night’s cuts, trying to focus his thoughts with the pain from it. No one can ever know, ever. If anyone ever found out they would hate him, wouldn't they? No one does this sort of thing, only seriously messed up people do this. But no matter how terrified Harry feels at the thought of someone knowing, all he wants is for someone to find out. To comfort him. To love him despite of the scars and cuts. To help him figure out what the hell is wrong with his head. He sortly considers telling Draco, because the blonde already knows about the suicide attempt. But no, Draco would only realise how pathetic Harry is for wanting even more attention, for being such a freak. “No one can know, ever!” Harry says aloud in his empty bedroom, as if making a deal with himself. Writing his shame and secrets in stone. Harrys head is still full of stressing thoughts about someone finding out though, and the only thing he knows can calm him is what started the stress in the first place. Cutting.

**

“Honey I’m home” someone singsongs from Harrys hallway, and he startles and drops his slice of bread to the floor, hurrying to pull down his sleeve.

 

“Fred?” He calls out questioningly.

“And George” Answers George back. “We’ve come to help you decorate. What horribly dull walls you have Harry. This won’t do”. “Won’t do at all!” Fred chimes in.

“What?” Harry says confused. “They’re just walls”

“Exactly Harry, exactly. Harry Potter, the hero of the wizarding world, the boy who lived, the boy who slept, the sponsor of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, “at this point George has to stop for breath so Fred steps in “the best friend of our brother, the once rumoured heir of Slytherin and record rule breaker of Hogwarts CANNOT have, as you so bluntly put it ‘just walls’”. The twins step aside to show buckets of what appears to be ‘Colourful Chameleon Colouring – walls in whatever shade you want’. “It’s our new wall paint” Fred exclaims excitedly upon noticing Harrys obvious confusion. “It turns a new shade every day! You’ll never be bored with it”.

Harry can’t keep the grin of his face, this is just something the twins would think of. “Well alright, what’s life without a little colour I guess. Where have you hidden the paintbrushes then?” he asks, eying the twins matching bright green robes.

“Commoner!” George scoffs. “We would never produce paint needing something as dull as paintbrushes. It is obviously meant to be thrown on the walls. That way it won’t look boring at all, and look you already have a nice white base!”.

“Well you’ll have to help me throw some umbrella charms over the furniture then, no doubt you think it looks hideously boring as it is, but I don’t fancy paint is comfortable sitting on.”

Thirty minutes later all of Harrys doors, furniture, cupboards and closets have been covered with charms of increasing imagination. He’s pretty sure he heard George cover something with what he knows to be a ‘condom charm’, but he figures as long as the paint stays on the walls and off his things it will all be fine. Somehow a day of doing something as random as flinging paint on his walls seems wonderfully refreshing.

“So how do we do this, just dip our hands in and fling it on the walls?” He asks, standing back and surveying the walls.

“Now you’re getting it Harry, that is exactly what we’re going to do!” Fred says, popping open the paint with his wand. Harry dips his hand in and marvels as the paint that was orange when he dipped his hand in turns turquoise before he pulls his hand back and flings droplets of paint across the wall. By the time it hits it’s bright pink.

“Brilliant Harry, that’s exactly how it’s done!” Fred says. “And don’t worry, the colour will change slower once the paint is dry. It’s chameleon after all, not disco.”

“Disco paint Fred! What an utterly brilliant idea! We must make it at once, and we’ll add glitter of course.” George says, producing a notebook from somewhere inside his clothes.

“Why not make the glitter glow in the dark, that way it will really work as disco lights.” Harry suggests, not really sure if he’s joking or not.

“Now we’re talking” says Fred. “Maybe we should bring you on as a consultant for the shop. You really should have some say in your investment you know.”

Somewhat flattered Harry smiles at the twins as he flings more paint around him, “I trust you completely with the shop and my ‘investment’ if that’s what you want to call it. It really was a gift though.”

“Nope” George says, doing a fancy swirl with his hand and making the paint splatter in an interesting pattern on the wall. “No gifts accepted. Your money was an investment, and we take that very seriously indeed.”

Harry has a few doubts about how serious the twins can be about anything, but he just nods solemnly, ignoring the bit of paint he’s sure Fred just threw in his hair.

When they finish Harrys walls are covered with slowly changing splatters of coloured paint, and he’s pretty sure every single person he knows will hate it, but he really loves it. It’s random, it’s happy and it perfectly reflects how he wishes his mind could look. And maybe if he’s lucky, the colourful walls will help him feel a little better.


	3. Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so my whole idea of just fixing some errors and plot holes has turned into a "lets just write a completly new story inspired by my old one". There is a good deal of homophobic language and internalized homophobia in this chapter. I added the tags, but in case you’re already following I just wanted to make sure you got the warning. Also, english is not my first language, so I apologise in advance for any mistakes.

When Harry wakes on his nineteenth birthday he sighs, uses his wand to clean the bloodstains on his sheets and then checks on last night’s cuts. He doesn’t know how he feels about being nineteen. He honestly never thought he’s make it this far. Even before he had wanted to kill himself, he’d assumed Voldemort would kill him before he got this old. He supposes he should feel happy, or relieved. But all he can feel is just a confusing mess of nothingness. 

He gets out of bed and studies the walls that has decided to turn a dark grey for the day, splotches of black and dark green scattered throughout it. It feels somehow fitting, and Harry decides to match his clothing to it. Pulling on black jeans, a dark green shirt and a grey tie. He doesn’t know if his outfit is in any way matching, but he’s never given a fuck before, and he’s not about to start now. 

Molly has decided to throw him a massive party, Harry doesn’t even know who’s on the guest list, but knowing her it’s probably half the wizarding word. Taking a look in the mirror he decides something needs to be done about his unruly hair. So he picks up a comb, runs it through the tap and tries to make it lie somewhat flat. Thirty minutes later he gives up and throws the comb so hard at the wall it crashes to the floor in three pieces. Fucking shit hair and fucking shit comb. He looks at himself in the mirror and the unruly hair, the circles under his dull eyes, the spots on his skin and the slight unshaved stubble and he wants to throw up. He looks so incredibly ugly he doesn’t even know if he qualifies as a human being anymore. He remembers how growing up his lightning bolt scar was the only thing about his appearance that he actually likes, now it’s the thing he hates the most. He stares at himself until he can’t take it anymore, forcibly resists punching the mirror and walks out of the bathroom before he’s too tempted. 

In the bedroom again he glances at his nightstand, knowing the top drawer consists of his razor. Maybe he should cut before leaving for the Burrow? Just to have something to get him through the day. He doesn’t have much time, and he knows he shouldn’t do it. Something in him drags him towards the nightstand though. Giving in he opens the drawer, pulls out his razor and makes to quick cuts on his arm. He applies a small bandage so he won’t bleed through his shirt before pulling his sleeve down again. He suddenly feels calmer, and more ready to face the day. A thought in the back of his mind tries to question when cutting became something of a quick fix habit, like takin aspirin for a headache, but he pushes it back. 

He decides to floo over to the Burrow, he still hates the sensation, but it’s faster and he’s already running late. The minute he steps into the living room of the Weasleys house he’s surrounded by people. He notices Neville, Luna, Dean, Seamus, Hagrid, Fleur and all the Weasley children even Charlie and Bill before he’s enveloped in handshakes, hugs and well wishes. Almost an hour later he manages to escape to the kitchen where he finds Molly throwing charms around. 

“Hi! Mrs. Weasley.” He says, smiling a little. “Thanks for the party! It’s brilliant how many people’s here. Do you need any help in here?” He really does hope she needs some help, giving him an excuse to stay in the quiet kitchen a bit longer. 

“Do call me Molly, Harry. And of course they all came, they’ve all been really excited to see you again! Remus wanted to come too of course, but the full moon you know.” she traces off. “Anyways, I’ve got it all handled in here, you just get out there and enjoy the party.” Harry feels horrible that he’s forgotten all about the full moon, and he suddenly realises he hasn’t seen Remus since Sirius died. 

Suddenly he can’t breathe and the room starts spinning around him. Sirius. He hasn’t thought about his godfather since his failed suicide. Everything that happened that day seems unreal in his head, like it didn’t really happen. Or maybe it’s everything that’s happened since he woke up that doesn’t seem real. Either way he’s suddenly crushed by a wave of grief and guilt. He killed Sirius. He believed Voldemort’s stupid vision, put his friends and the whole order in danger, and got the only father figure he’s ever had killed. 

Harry tries to drag a breath to his lungs, but it feels like something is blocking his airways. He hears a wheezing sound and looks around before realising it’s coming from his own throat. ‘I’m a murderer, I’m a murderer’ races through his head as his vision blurs. Suddenly warm hands are on his shoulders and he’s guided to a chair and set down. 

“Harry, Harry look at me. I know this is really scary but you’re going to be ok. Try to look up at me Harry. Just focus on me.” Harry’s mind latches on to the calm voice and he looks up to see Dean’s face inches from his own. “Good Harry, well done. Now I know this is going to sound weird, but just hold your breath for a few seconds. Don’t try to breathe.” Harry’s desperately breathing in and out, trying to get air to his panicked lungs. “Trust me Harry, just hold your breath for a couple of seconds.”

Harry realises he does trust Dean, and he forces his body to stop it’s desperate heaving for air. “That’s great Harry! Now just breathe with me, in through the nose out through the mouth. You’ll be ok.” When Harry tries again to draw a slow breath through his nose he can finally feel the air hit his lungs. He focuses on Dean’s breath and tries to match his own to it. Slowly but surely the beating in his chest calms down, and he finally feels like he can breathe properly again. The blurring in his eyes disappear too, as the moisture falls down his cheeks and he realises he’s crying. He hurriedly dries his face off with his hands before looking at Dean again. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t know what just happened there” he says feeling extremely ashamed at his breakdown. He looks around the kitchen and is happy to realise he and Dean are the only ones there. “Where did Molly go? And when did you get here?”

“It’s ok Harry, I’m pretty sure you just had a panic attack. I met Molly in the hallway when she went looking for help. I told her to stay there and that I’d handle it.” Harry feels like he’s going to start hyperventilating again. A panic attack? And fuck, what if Molly told the rest of the guests in her worry?

Harry stands abruptly, he needs to find Molly to ensure her he’s fine. “Shit, I’m sorry Dean! I need to find Molly. I don’t want her telling anyone.” Upon seeing Dean’s worried face he smiles at the other boy. “I’m fine, really, thanks! Don’t know what came over me.” He exits the room before Dean can say anything else and is relived to find Molly on the other side of the door. 

“Oh, hi Molly. Sorry if I scared you earlier. I’m fine now, really.” Searching his head for an excuse he says “I just got really dizzy there for a second, it’s happened a couple of times since I woke up. I think I was just standing for too long.”

“Oh Harry I was so worried, I tried calling your name but you didn’t even hear me. I’m so sorry, I should have realised you wouldn’t be feeling well enough for a party so soon after waking up! I’ll just send everyone home, let me take you to bed, you can borrow Ron’s old one he won’t mind.” She grabs his shoulders and starts guiding him to the stairs.

“I really am fine Molly, I think I’ll just take a couple of minutes to sit down upstairs, then I’ll come re-join the party. You really don’t have to send anyone home.” He looks embarrassed down at his shoes. “You didn’t.. ehm.. tell anyone else did you? Only.. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Only Dean and I know honey” she says. “If you’re absolutely sure you’re fine I’ll just tell them you had a bit too much cake so you went to lie down for a second.”

“Thanks Molly, that would be brilliant!” Harry says.

“I’ll just walk you up first, you still look a little peaky if I’m honest.”

“It’s fine Molly” Dean says, coming out of the kitchen. “I’ll take him.”

Harry curses silently as he starts walking up the stairs with Dean on his heels. He really just needs a few minutes alone, and he has a feeling Dean is going to want to talk, something he really doesn’t want to do. 

“Really Dean, thanks for the help. But I’m fine now, I can make it up the stairs alone.” Harry says.

“I know you can, I just want to talk to you. Besides I don’t feel like being flogged alive by Mrs. Weasley for coming back too soon” Dean says. 

Sighing, Harry sets of towards Ron’s old rom instead of to the bathroom in the search of something sharp. He needs a few minutes alone. He’s not panicking anymore, but he just really needs something to ground him. Making it to Ron’s old room he’s relived to see the trademark orange posters still cover the walls. In fact, the room looks much the same as when Ron lived here, only more tidy. 

Harry slumps to the bed. “Ok, we’re here. Talk” he says. Feeling annoyed at Dean’s persistence and at his own mess of a brain. 

“You never asked how I knew it was a panic attack” Dean says, surprising Harry. “I know because I used to get them, a lot. Still do sometimes.”

“What?” Harry says. “When, why?” He can’t imagine the high spirited boy he basically grew up with suffering regular bouts of what he just experienced. 

“Well if I’m honest they started around the time you came back from the triwizard tournament holding the dead body of my long-time crush, saying you-know-who was back. But I’d been stressing a lot before that too, I don’t really know what triggered it.”

Harry’s taken aback. Dean’s long time crush? On Cedric? “But Cedric’s a boy” he says, before he can self-sensor. 

“Yeah I guess you missed some stuff being in a coma. I came out in sixth year, I’m bisexual. Seamus has been really patient and helpful with the anxiety. I guess being out and in a relationship was good for my anxiety issues, because it just got better after that.” Dean says.

“You’re a fag?!” Harry asks, not really able to comprehend that. And he’s sitting there talking about it like it’s normal. Like it’s OK? 

“Well sort of, I’m bisexual. I like both. And fag really isn’t a word you should be throwing around, it’s quite offensive.” Dean says, looking slightly annoyed now. 

“Shit, I’m sorry! I don’t mind, I think, I just.. Well it’s a bit wrong isn’t it? Two boys I mean. Like, unnatural.” Harry trails off, the look on Deans face is one of pure fury now. 

“You know what, fuck off. I don’t want to talk to you if you’re just going to be a homophobic twat about it. Fucking hell.” Dean’s voice steadily rises in agitation, and he leaves the room in a rush slamming the door so hard the hinges rattle. 

Harry sits behind feeling shocked. What had he even done wrong. He really didn’t mind that Dean liked boys, or Seamus for that matter. But he had to know it was wrong. Didn’t he? Lost in thought Harry doesn’t even notice someone on the stairs before the door slams open again.

“You fucking arse! What the hell did you say to Dean? He’s down there feeling like literal shit, because of some fucking stupid homophobic comment out of your bloody mouth.” Seamus yells, his Irish accent becoming more pronounced in his anger. 

“I just told him the truth” Harry says, feeling confused at all the anger he’s causing. “You have to know it’s not natural. Humans need to reproduce, two people of the same gender can’t do that. It’s just.. well it’s not right is it?” he tries to explain. 

As he finishes the sentence he realises it’s not welcomed well by Seamus. Two seconds later he pulls his arm back and punches Harry straight to the nose. Pain explodes over Harry’s face, and although he can’t understand what he’s done wrong he figures he deserves it so he doesn’t punch back.

“I can’t believe I spent five years sharing a dormitory with such a fucking dick! Why don’t you just put yourself in another coma so the doctors can fix your personality.” Harry’s horrified to realise he’s about to start crying again, and he rubs his eyes, trying to make it look like he’s checking on his nose. When he looks back at Seamus the other boy is already leaving.   
Harry stays in Ron’s room for about half an hour, trying to muster up the courage to go downstairs and face the rest of the guests. However, when he makes it downstairs he faces a very quiet and empty hallway. Harry looks around the now empty room trying to decide where everybody is when Ron and Hermione enter the previously room. 

“What the fuck mate?” Ron asks upon seeing Harry. 

Before he can answer however Hermione says “What happened to your face?!”.

“Seamus is what happened” says Ron, “Harry said something that managed to piss of both Dean and Seamus.” Turning from Hermione and back to Harry he asks “what the hell did you say? Seamus was ranting about ignorant arseholes before he left.”

“I just..” Harry hesitates. “I don’t even know what I said. I was just saying how I don’t mind them being fags for each other, but that they had to know it’s not really natural, you know? They just freaked out.”

“Shit Harry, if your nose didn’t already look broken have half a mind to punch you myself. What the hell are you on about?” Ron says, and Harry notices Hermione placing a calming, or maybe restricting hand on his shoulder. 

“Harry, I think you’re seriously misunderstanding something here. At least I sincerely hope you are.” Hermione says.

“What so they’re not fa..” Harry breaks off, remembering Deans reaction to the word. “Err, gay? But Dean said they were dating?” 

Hermione just looks at him with the most disappointment Harry’s ever seen on her face. “They are dating Harry, I’m trying to understand why you think there’s something wrong with that.”

“There isn’t?” Harry asks. Something uncomfortable inside him starts pushing on his carefully erected mental walls. Is he wrong? But then what about kids, how would they be born at all? And kids need a mom, don’t they? He has so many questions, he doesn’t even know where to start. 

“Of course it bloody isn’t you tosser.” Ron says angrily, and Harry realises there’s no room for his questions here.

“I think I need to go, I have to think. I’m sorry, tell everyone thanks for coming and goodbye.” Harry hurries towards the fireplace, ignoring Hermione calling his name. 

Safely back at his apartment Harry sits on his couch, absently noticing he walls have turned pink and purple. He trusts Ron and Hermione, so if they say there isn’t anything wrong with being gay, then maybe he’s wrong. But they’ve never spoken about the subject before. Thinking back Harry can only remember the Dursleys talking about ‘the fags’, he doesn’t think it’s ever come up in conversations with anybody else. Maybe, he thinks, that should be indication enough that ‘fag’ is indeed an offensive word, and that being gay isn’t wrong. But how would such a relationship even work?

Harry tries to imagine it, Dean and Seamus holding hands and kissing, going on dates. Watching a quidditch match together and eagerly kissing when their team wins. Dean introducing Seamus to football and the boys playing shirtless in the heat, falling into heaps and kissing leisurely when they get too tired to keep playing. Without him noticing Harry’s thoughts run away from him, and he’s suddenly imagining Dean painting with Seamus as a nude model. Both boys laughing and smiling, he imagines how Seamus would touch himself and Dean would get more and more distracted from the painting. Eventually giving up and straddling Seamus, dominating his mouth in a deep kiss. 

With a start Harry realises he’s hard. He stares at the bulge in his pants like it’s a foreign object. “Fuck” he mutters, “fuck, fuck, fuck”. He desperately tries pushing the thoughts from his mind, but the mental image of Dean straddling Seamus, both boys desperately grinding against each other is burned to his retinas. He reaches slowly for the bulge in his jeans and tries to think of a girl, any girl. He imagines boobs, full lips, soft curves and long hair. As soon as his hand reaches its destination though, the girl is replaced by the image of a boy, and Harry immediately pulls his hand back.

‘What the hell is wrong with me’ he thinks, ‘I can’t do this, fuck’. Harry gets up and almost runs to the shower, setting the water as cold as it will go before jumping in, not even bothering to take off his clothes. The water is so cold it hurts his exposed skin and gives him a headache, but it effectively kills his erection. Harry’s tears mix with the cold water as intense fear strikes him for the second time that day. He’s a freak. He’s a murderer and a freak and he can’t even deny it anymore. Flashes of memories from dreams and thoughts he’s tried his best to forget rushes to his mind and he feels like he’s going to throw up. 

He scrambles out of the shower, rips of his wet clothing and blurry eyed makes his way to his bedroom. ‘Freak, freak, freak, freak. Murderer!’ runs on repeat in his head, and he just has to get the thoughts out. Grabbing for his blade he sets it to his thigh for the first time. He cut’s fast, anger and panic driving his hand. Every time the word freak or murderer enters his head he cuts again, until his mind is pleasantly blurred and he can’t think much of anything. Exhausted he falls asleep. 

Relief washes over him when he wakes up having dreamt of nothing. Relief soon turns to pain however when he tries to move, and realises some of his cuts have stuck to the sheets in his sleep. He slowly releases himself, reopening the cuts that started healing while in contact with he’s bed. His thigh doesn’t look good at all, the cuts aren’t too deep, but he’s made a lot of them. When he moves a burning sensation flares in his thigh, but somehow the pain makes him smile. He can think more clearly this way, and in a sick way the pain makes him feel proud. 

Harry thinks back to the previous night, and realises he still has a lot of questions. Questions he needs answered. But who can he talk to? His friends are probably still really mad at him, they won’t want to see his face for a good while and he refuses to force his presence on them. As he considers his options Harry’s mind drifts to Draco. The boy had seemed really changed when he visited Harry in hospital, maybe he could help Harry challenge some old prejudges? Hopefully he’d understand the struggle of realising something that’s been a truth your entire life might actually be really wrong. 

Deciding to contact the boy before he backs out Harry pens a note:   
‘Hello Draco. I hope it’s ok that I’m writing to you. If you don’t mind, I’d really like to talk to you. I think I might need some help sorting some stuff out. I don’t really know how to phrase it in a letter, but would you be willing to meet with me?  
Harry’

He’s not at all pleased with the sound of the letter, but right now he just needs some answers so he seals the letter and heads for the post office.


	4. August

Chapter 4 - August

When Harry wakes up a week later he realises it’s officially August, and thereby autumn. Of course it has been for a while now, he’s simply failed to notice. He remembers loving the autumn. The bright colours, she sharp air that could sting his nose when winter got nearer. Of course, it’s too early for the cold, but somehow the idea that his favourite season is here just makes him sad. He looks to the window to see if Draco has responded to his owl yet, and is disappointed to see the ledge outside is empty of owls. Draco probably hates him too. And why wouldn’t he? Harry sent him to prison for three years. Not on purpose of course, but that hardly matters. He hadn’t meant to hurt and infuriate his friends the week before either, but somehow he had managed it. He hadn’t spoken to any of them since his birthday, simply choosing to exile himself in his flat. 

He wishes Hedwig were here, because then he wouldn’t feel so utterly alone. But Hermione had told him she had moved into the owlery at Hogwarts after his ‘sacrifice’ and refused to move for anyone. Harry figures he’ll go see her when school starts up again.  
Hours later Harry is shocked by a knock on his door. Who would come see him here, they all hate now anyways, or even if they don’t they’re all pissed off. The knock comes again and Harry hurries to put his blade away. He’s been cutting again, and whoever’s at the door definitely doesn’t need to see that. The knock sounds again, louder this time. Harry hurriedly pulls on his jeans, thankful for their dark colour as the cuts are still bleeding a little. He’s about to call out to ask who it is when a voice accompanies the next round of knocking. 

“Harry James Potter, you better open this door right now” Draco Malfoy yells. Stunned Harry simply opens the door and stares at the blonde. “Finally” he says, and strides into Harry’s flat.

“You have some truly horrible walls Harry, did you know?” Draco says, observing the light blue splatter. “Are you going to pick your jaw off the floor and close the door anytime soon, or are you hoping something will fly through and into your mouth?”

Harry forcibly shakes himself. “You’re here” he says, feeling stupid. He hadn’t expected Draco to just show up, if he’s honest he hadn’t even expected an answer to his owl after this time either. 

“Yes Harry I am here, I didn’t have much choice did I? How did you expect me to answer your owl when you live in a muggle apartment, owl’s won’t fly near places with so many muggles if you haven’t put up some charms to hide them. Which you obviously haven’t, seeing as my owl came back three times with my letter still attached to its leg.” Draco says, sounding exasperated. 

“Oh” says Harry, “I didn’t know that. That’s kind of why I wrote. It appears there are a lot of things I don’t know.” Harry hesitates, not wanting to insult Draco after the boy came all this way. “I didn’t know who to write, and I came to thinking that, err, well, you used to be kinda prejudiced before, but you’re not now. And I think I finally understand how you could think people you never knew where bad or wrong. Because I think I do it too.”

“Harry” Draco shoots in when Harry pauses for breath. “You’re babbling, and we’re still in the hallway. Let’s sit down and you can explain what you’re talking about.”

After installing Harry on the sofa Draco proceeds to making himself at home in the other boys kitchen, making them both some tea. Harry sits nervously, staring at his hands. What is he even going to say? Sending that letter was just stupid in the first place. 

“So you think you’re prejudiced?” asks Draco as he sits down and hands Harry a steaming cup of tea. 

Gathering his so called Gryffindor courage, though Harry doesn’t know how much of that he has, he looks up at Draco. “Yes. I said some things, things that made some people hurt and offended, and all my friends mad. And I think maybe I’m wrong about it, but it just doesn’t make sense to me. And I can’t ask my friends, because they all hate me now, and they will be even more mad.” Draco sends him a sceptical look at this, but Harry soldiers on. “They just, I don’t know. They don’t understand how hard it is to realise something that has been true your whole life might be wrong you know? I didn’t either. So I was mad at you for your beliefs, instead of trying to explain a different way of understanding it. And I’m sorry for that, because now I’m asking you to do what I couldn’t do.”

Harry stops speaking, preparing for the question he knows Draco will ask. But when it comes, it’s in a calm, almost gentle tone. Not smug or angry as Harry half anticipated.

“What did you say?” 

“I might have called Dean and Seamus fags.” Harry replies, looking at his hands again. “And then that I didn’t mind them being gay, but that they had to know it was wrong.” He wants to continue, to defend himself. To explain why it has to be wrong, but he doesn’t. He just sit’s and wait for Draco to say something. To Harry the silence seems to last forever.

“It isn’t wrong. But if you’re anything like I was, hearing that isn’t enough. You’re questioning, and that’s really good. But I’m guessing you need someone to answer the questions you do have. And I will, I just want to ask one thing in return.” Draco says.

“Thank you!” says Harry. “What do you want? I’ll do it! Anything, I just need answers.” He doesn’t even realise he just promised a slytherin to do anything he wants, he’s so happy Draco understands. 

“You said yourself I used to be pretty prejudiced. And I’ve been working against that, I really have. But there are always things that I just haven’t thought to question, or things I am questioning but I don’t know any answers to. Especially about muggleborns and muggles. I just want you to be aware of that, and help me out with it when I’m the one with the questions.” Draco says, looking, if Harry’s eyes doesn’t deceive him, almost shy. 

“Yeah, of course Draco! Like I said, I wish I’d done that sooner anyways.”

“Ok, good. So questions. First off, fag really isn’t an ok word to use. It’s kind of the equivalent of mudblood.” Harry feels horrified at this, had he really called his friend something so ugly? “Same goes for a lot of words. Some gay people like to use queer, but you really shouldn’t use it for anyone who hasn’t said it’s ok. Other than gay, homosexual, bisexual, lesbian and whatever words people use to describe themselves ok. But don’t go around saying dyke, fag or any other ridiculous words for it.” Draco says, with a small smile now. 

“Ok, so Dean called himself bisexual, so I should use that? And gay for Seamus because that’s what he said?” Harry clarifies, and Draco nods.

“But how about kids? If being gay isn’t wrong, and everybody was gay there wouldn’t be any kids.” Harry asks.

“By that logic, shouldn’t being in a relationship with someone sterile also be wrong? Or just being sterile? Or not wanting kids? And besides, there are ways for gay people to have children, you can..” Harry interrupts Draco before he can finish speaking.

“Men can get pregnant?” he asks, shocked. 

“Your mind really goes to the strangest places Harry. No, men don’t get pregnant. Though I think some healers tried it once, didn’t work out to well. Two men will usually get a surrogate to carry the baby for them, and two witches usually get a sperm donor. Or they adopt, there are lots of kids with no parents to take care of them you know.”

Harry suddenly feels sad for a second, yeah there are definitely kids with no parents. He doesn’t think the feeling shows on his face, but apparently he’s wrong. 

“Shit, Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Of course you know. You were adopted to though, weren’t you?” Draco says. 

“The Dursleys never adopted me, they never really wanted me there in the first place to be honest. I think that’s where I have this whole ‘gay is wrong’ idea from, but they hated magic as well, that’s why I figured they might be wrong on this too.”

“They, wait what?” Draco asks. “They didn’t want you? And they hated magic? Why did you have to live there?” Before Harry can answer Draco answers his own question. “Fuck, it’s blood magic isn’t it. Dumbledore figured you being safe from You-know.. erh Voldemort, was more important than having an actual family.”

“Well it worked I guess, I’m alive soo..” Harry trails off, not knowing if the bitterness in his tone comes from what Dumbledore did to keep him alive or the fact that he’s alive at all. In an attempt to steer the conversation away from his childhood he asks, “So even if everyone decided to be gay, there would still be children then? That’s good.”

Draco looks at him with an amused glint in his eyes. “Harry people don’t choose to be gay, they just are. Kinda like you were born a wizard, you didn’t choose to be one, and you didn’t know the whole time that you were one, but now you could never go back to being a muggle, because you know that’s not what you are. And besides, everyone isn’t gay. I think it’s like ten percent of the population or something.”

Harry draws in a sudden breath. If being gay isn’t a choice, then how can he be sure he’s not gay. What if it is like the magic thing, and he’s been gay this whole time without knowing. But how would he even know? Images flash in his mind from when he imagined how Dean and Seamus would kiss. Vague images from dreams he’s had over the past few days of himself in similar positions with another man. But he’d been disgusted at those, hadn’t he? Or was that just because of his homophobic thoughts?

Clenching his fists Harry can feel panic rising in his chest again, and suddenly he’s struggling for breath. He supposes he’s always known on some level that he likes boys, he’s always found himself looking just a little bit too long, or dreaming of people with a chest that’s just too flat. But he always figured he could just choose to be straight. He always thought it was a choice. That everyone had thoughts like that, but only a few ´freaks´ actually chose to act on them. 

“Harry! Harry what’s wrong? You’re hyperventilating. Harry!” Draco says, reaching out to place a hand on Harrys shoulder. Harry jumps away so fast he falls to the floor.

“No! Don’t touch me! How do you know?” Harry asks, desperate to be reassured. 

“Harry what’s going on? How do you know what?” Draco asks, looking worried and confused. 

“How do you know if you’re gay? How can you tell?” Harry asks again, not sure if he’s ready for Draco to answer.

“Well I suppose you know if you feel like you want to kiss, touch, or just be with someone of the same gender. If you find yourself thinking about that when you’re masturbating, or when you’re dreaming. It’s just something that ‘is’, and when you notice it it’s pretty hard to un-notice it again.” Draco answers, and reaches out for Harry again.

Harry jumps back again, for some reason not ready to be touched by anyone. Draco shouldn’t have to touch him, he’s a freak. He’s a gay freak. He knows exactly what Draco is describing, he’s experienced it. But it shouldn’t matter, because he can choose to be straight. He can find a girlfriend and be with her. He can! He just doesn’t think he can ever love her the way she deserves. And maybe, if being gay is ok then it’s ok for him to be too? He realises it’s not wrong to be gay now, but it’s wrong for him to be. 

Lost in thought Harry doesn’t notice Draco has left the couch to sit beside him on the floor, not touching him, before he speaks. 

“Harry, there isn’t anything wrong with liking men. And there isn’t anything wrong if you do either. It’s ok, it’s just, well a preference. Like preferring chocolate ice cream to vanilla. So know that what I’m about to ask is not an insult.” Draco pauses, dragging a breath. “Harry, are you gay?”

Harry’s world explodes. Hearing the words, even formulated as a question is like writing it in stone. Draco was right, once you know it you can’t go back. You can pretend, but it’s too late, because now you know. Breathing hard through a throat that feels to tight Harry desperately tries to calm down enough to say something. 

“Yes.” Harry whispers through the lump in his throat, and suddenly everything quiets down. He can breathe again, he can think again. He’s gay, and he’s told someone, and people don’t think its wrong. At least not people he cares about if their reactions to his homophobic language and comments are any indication. It still doesn’t feel ok, but it feels right. It feels like letting go of a breath he’s held in for too long. 

“Yes,” he says again “fuck it, I’m gay.”

Draco smiles at him. “Congratulations I guess, and welcome to the club.” 

“The club?” Harry asks, confused. “Wait, you’re gay too?”

“Yeah,” Draco says “didn’t you know? I dated Blaise in fourth year, I thought everyone knew.” 

“Blaise is gay too?” Harry exclaims. “Is everyone gay? Last month I didn’t know a single gay person, and now everyone and their brother is gay. And no I didn’t know you where gay, dick that I am I probably would have made a shitstorm about it back then.”

Draco laughs, actually laughs, and Harry feels his mood lighten. “Everyone isn’t gay Harry, Blaise isn’t either I think, he just loves sex with anyone, more than he enjoys relationships. That’s why ours wasn’t a very long one. I think we were both just exploring, being young you know?”

“So you were just..Oh Merlin” Harry says, as he realises what Draco is saying. “You were like fuck buddies or something?”

“How exactly did this go from me teaching you how being gay isn’t wrong to us sitting on the floor, you coming out, and me explaining my sexual history?” Draco asks in an amused tone. 

“I have absolutely no idea” Harry laughs, “things around me never really go as planned.”

“Yes I’m starting to notice.” Draco says. “Are you.. ehm.. ok? With your new revelation?”

“I don’t know” Harry answers “In some ways it’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done, but it’s also, I don’t know, freeing somehow. It still doesn’t really feel ok, but I think I’ll get over that.”

“You will, change takes time. You need to learn a new way of thinking about something, and that’s not easy. But you have the facts now, so just take some time to accept them.” Draco says. “I really should be going though. My mother worries if I’m home late. I think she still sees me as the fifteen-year-old they shipped off to Azkaban.”

“Oh, of course.” Harry says. “I didn’t mean to keep you this long. Thank you for coming though, and everything else. And I’m still sorry about getting you sent to that place.” 

“Glad I could be of help” Draco says. “I’m really glad we’re getting along now, Hogwarts will be a lot more fun with a friend there. And don’t feel bad, first of all it wasn’t your fault and second I think I needed it in some weird way. For whatever reason that place made me grow up. And I like to think it made me a better person.”

Harry walks Draco to the door and they say their goodbyes. Then he sits down to write letters for Dean, Seamus, Ron and Hermione. He needs to apologise, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to do it in person. He’s always getting his words mixed up, and an apology comes out sounding like an insult. He considers telling them he’s gay, but feels like that would just sound like some way to explain away his behaviour and he doesn’t want that. There is also the nagging feeling, stronger now that Draco isn’t here, that something about him being gay is wrong. That he’s wrong for it. 

Angrily punching the table he’s sitting at to push the thoughts out of his head Harry focuses his attention back on the letters. He’ll write them, go to bed without thinking a single thought and then send the letters from the owlery at diagon tomorrow. At least that’s the plan.

The part of the plan where he isn’t supposed to think doesn’t really go like he’d hoped though, as thoughts of Draco and Blaise ‘just exploring’ enter his mind when he’s on the verge between sleep and awake. Turning to his side Harry puts his hands underneath his pillow, refusing to acknowledge the bulge in his pyjamas. 

After sending the owls off to his friends the next day Harry decides to look around Diagon, and he’s pleased to discover there isn’t just the one main road. His curiosity brings him down a side street with hairdressers, make-up stores and tattoo parlours thrown in between the regular shops. Intrigued Harry stands outside one of the tattoo parlours studying the intricate designs displayed in the windows. 

Maybe he should get a tattoo? It’s not like he doesn’t add permanent markings to his body on a daily basis already, and a tattoo would be something he could show off. But what would he even get? Something to commemorate his parents and Sirius? Something quidditch related? Do people even get tattoos on a whim like this, just deciding and going in the store. 

Harry decides why not, and enters the store to talk to one of the artists. When he leaves a few hours later he’s sporting a watercolor lily, with the words mischief managed written through the stem of the flower on his forearm. Like with his walls the colours of the tattoo can change, but only when he wants them to. The pain hadn’t been bad, just different. Harry marvels at the tattoo, thinking about how some scars can be beautiful, on display for the world, while others are ugly and disgusting and must be hidden at any cost. 

The tattoo artist told him that the store a few doors down sells a magical concealer so good it could hide his tattoo if he ever needed that. Making his way towards that very store to purchase the concealer Harry hopes it will work on his ugly scars, as those are the ones that need covering up. 

“Oh my, you’re Harry Potter aren’t you?” the middle aged witch in the store says the second Harry enters her shop.

“Yeah, I was looking for some concealer the tattoo artist down the street recommended. He said you’d know which one.”

“Yes of course I do, it should be able to cover up that lightning bolt scar of yours as well if you ever need some anonymity. I can imagine being ‘the boy who lived’ all the time gets tiring.”

“Yeah it does, this thing really works on curse scars though? I was told nothing would.” Harry askes the older woman.  
“It does!” She says proudly, “It’s my own recipe, I’m rather proud of it if I’m honest. People buy this for everything from pimples to tattoos to curse scars, I haven’t had a complaint yet.”

“That’s wonderful! I’ll definitely buy it then, I don’t think I’ll ever want to hide my new tattoo, but being anonymous does sound amazing.” Harry says, smiling.

“Tell me, have you ever considered wearing a bit of eyeliner? A dark grey colour would bring out your eyes wonderfully!” the witch says, examining Harrys eyes.

Harry’s suddenly nervous. Eyeliner is something girls wear, it’s makeup right? Can she tell he’s gay? Or does she know about he’s secret addiction somehow, and thinks he should look more ‘emo’? 

“Yeah, fine I’ll take it. Just.. I’ll take both, I have to go now though. Just realised I need to be somewhere” he says just wanting to leave the store now, not really realising he accepted the eyeliner the witch summons from a shelf on the other side of the store.

Safely back in his flat Harry throws the bag with his concealer and eyeliner on the couch, ignores the colours of the wall changing to pink, purple and blue to match his tattoo, and heads for his bedroom.

He pulls out his razor and drags it lightly across the tattoo, it feels somehow tempting to cut there, but he knows he can’t ruin his tattoo. Sliding his blade lower to rest at the wrist he considers again, he could cut there, and cover it up with clothes or the concealer cream. Cutting his thighs is easier, no-one needs to see those, but it’s not really as satisfying as cutting his arms had been. 

Harry sits on his bed, razor to his wrist for a long time. Feeling calm and increasingly stressed at the same time. He needs to cut, he wants to cut his wrist, yet he knows he shouldn’t. A sharp pain is what finally drags him from his thoughts, looking down he realises he’s accidentally pushed the razor down harder and made a small cut. 

Now that there already is a small cut on his wrist the decision becomes a lot easier, and he drags the razor across his wrist intentionally. There is pain, and there is blood and the stress and bad feelings starts seeping out in tandem with the blood. He cuts again, and there is more pain, more blood, and less thoughts. Three cuts later and his wrist is aching and his head is calm. It feels wonderful. 

The next day Harry remembers to put up the charms Draco had told him to allow owls to deliver letters to his flat. It doesn’t take long for Pig to arrive with letters from Ron and Hermione.

_‘Harry!_  
That’s all right mate. I know those muggles must have put some silly ideas in your head. Glad you’re working it out though. Do you realise I STILL haven’t been to see your new flat?! That’s really not appropriate I think, you haven’t even been to see mine and Hermione’s place. So, when’s a good time for you to do the ‘new home appreciation tours’.  
Ron’ 

_‘Hello Harry.  
I do accept your apology of course, but I’m not the one you should be apologising to. Of course, knowing you, I’m sure you sent letters to Dean and Seamus as well. I’m sure they will forgive you, and hopefully you’ll be able to forgive yourself as well. Ron’s been going on about seeing you again, and I do agree. We both missed you terribly, and we’re really glad to have you back. Hopefully we’ll be able to see each other soon.’_

Glad to see his friends aren't mad at him Harry want’s to reply by inviting them over. Somehow though, the thought of doing anything but sitting in his flat seems like too much, he’s just so tired. So he writes back, thanking them for being good friends, and explaining that he’s really busy at the minute with school preparations and studying. He knows they will be disappointed, but he can’t come out to them yet. He also can’t risk them noticing his mental health issues, so he pushes them away.


	5. The sorting

Harry spends the rest of August on his own, refusing every owl inviting him to meet up with someone. He just can’t find the energy to do anything. He orders muggle takeout when he needs to eat, and only leaves his flat to buy the most essential things like toilet paper. He orders all his school supplies by owl order, borrowing Pig to send the letters whenever Ron or Hermione writes him. Owl order and muggle catalogues also supplies him with a new wardrobe, seeing as he’s grown out of most the clothes from before the coma. 

The days until Hogwarts seems incredibly long and short at the same time. Like one day lasts for an entire month, yet all the days blend together and the time Harry has to himself is suddenly over. Harry’s really glad he knows some cleaning charms, or his clothes, bed, couch and bathroom would be full of blood. The cleaning charms will be useful at Hogwarts as well, because no way is Harry going to stop cutting.

Maybe starting Hogwarts again will be a good thing? If nothing else he’ll have something to fill his days, even though the thought of doing something every day feels crushing. Harry remembers counting down the days until he could go back to Hogwarts. Now he’s dreading it. Dreading having to be around people that treats him like some kind of hero. Harry’s no hero.

When the first of September arrives Harry packs his bags and leaves for Kings Cross. His blades safely hidden inside a pair of old socks. He really should find a better place for them, a nice box or something, it feels wrong keeping the thing that’s become most important to him hidden away in socks. 

Walking towards the secret entrance to the platform Harry wonders how school will be without Hermione and Ron, and even Ginny. Going to class with sixteen year olds will be weird enough, but going to Hogwarts, going home without his self-proclaimed family might prove too much. At least he’ll have Draco there, one person he knows might make things easier, even though that person is a previous enemy. If he’s honest with himself Harry knows he’s only going back to school for Draco. That might not have been his motivation the whole time, but now all he wants to do is go home to his flat and back to bed. He owes Draco though, owes him a chance to finish his education without being the only 19-year-old in the caste. After all, it was his suicide-attempt that sent the other boy to prison. 

Arriving at the station Harry remembers the first time he was here, how confused and scared he had been, but also hopeful. He was hoping for a better life, and he supposes his life has gotten better, he just hasn’t gotten better along with it. Harry suddenly realises how good his life actually is; he’s a wizard, he has his own flat, he has friends, Voldemort is dead. Realising he has a good life only makes Harry feel even more depressed though, he should be happy, but he isn’t. He’s such a spoiled little brat, he doesn’t have anything to complain about. There is literally no reason for him to hate life, but he does. Maybe Snape was right all along, and he is just spoiled and useless. 

Harry can almost sense his blades, calling for him. He should have put some where he’d have easier access to them than his luggage. He won’t be able to get them until he’s at Hogwarts again, and then he’ll need to find a place to be alone. This is going to be hard, not being able to cut whenever he needs to. 

"Hi Harry" The voice makes Harry jump, and he turns quickly towards the noise wand drawn.

Draco holds up his hands in mock surrender at the wand, but doesn’t comment on it. 

"Are you planning on catching the train, or will you just be stood here staring into thin air for the rest of the school year?" Draco sounds like his typical mocking self, but now Harry can hear the amusement in his voice.

Harry smirks back at Draco, and even though it’s not really a full on smile, it doesn’t feel forced either. 

"I guess I got a little lost in my head there, but I can see I'm not the only one that's missing the train if we don't get a move-on" he answers. 

"Well come on then, chosen one." Draco says and starts walking.

Harry truly hates being called the chosen one, or ‘the boy who lived’ or anything like it, but he realises that when Draco says it he doesn’t really mind. Draco doesn’t say it in awe, or like he’s expecting something marvellous from Harry. It’s more like a nickname. Harry follows behind Draco, noticing how the grey trousers the boy is wearing hugs his bottom when he walks. Of course when he notices what he’s looking at he immediately diverts his eyes to the Hogwarts express, searching for a compartment that might be empty. 

Upon entering the train with Draco Harry can feel the other students eyes on him. They have probably all heard the story of how ‘murderer Draco Malfoy’ was really ‘Saviour of the saviour’ as the Prophet had called it, but a lot of them had also been witness to the animosity between the two boys. The news that Draco hadn’t tried to kill Harry didn’t appear to lessen the shock of seeing the two boys together, like they were mates. 

The train honked, bringing everyone out of their daze. Harry and Draco found themselves a compartment that was originally occupied with a couple of first years. They left the compartment seconds after Harry and Draco entered though, and Harry suspected it was due to the murderous look Draco sent their way.

"Do you remember our first train ride to Hogwarts? You weere in here with Weasley and I tried to make you become my friend. I suppose I didn't have the best social skills back then." Draco says with a crooked smile as he arranges his luggage to sit down. 

Harry laughs at the memory, suddenly realising he couldn’t remember the last time he did that. Realising it’s been at least a month, Harry doesn’t know how to feel. Laughing again feels wonderful though, like he’s found a part of himself he lost without noticing. 

 

"If that was how you made friends, then I suppose you're right. I was so nervous on that ride, I didn't know anything about Hogwarts or magic at all. I remember thinking they should have a house for people that felt a little queasy." Harry says.

"It still amazes me how little you seem to know about the world you live in. Not that I blame you of course. I know little to nothing about the muggle world.” Draco says. “Speaking of houses though, which one do you think you will be sorted into? Still a Gryffindork at heart?"

Harry shoots Draco a puzzled look, what does he mean sorted? It’s not like they’re first years. 

"You really are ignorant, aren't you? Hogwarts rules state that anyone with an absence of two years or more from Hogwarts is to be resorted upon their return. I think it has something about your personality changing if you're away from your house for too long, so you might fit better in another." Draco explains. 

Harry looks out the window, watching the scenery fly by. So they’re going to be re-sorted. Is he still a Gryffindor? Had he ever really been a Gryffindor? The only reason he was placed there in the first place was because he asked the hat for it. Slytherin had seemed like the home of all evil back then, but does he still feel that way? He thinks he still does have Gryffindor traits, his need to save other people is still there. If it wasn’t he would probably be dead, and certainly not on this train. He still didn’t feel much like listening to rules, but that was a Slytherin trait too. He does have some ambitions, maybe not in the typical ‘I want to be rich’ way, but if he needs some sort of success to be able to look after those he cares about. 

"I don't really know where I should be, I'm not really brave, smart, loyal or cunning. They haven't made a house for people that are queasy yet have they?" He says, not really knowing what inspired him to be this honest.

"Harry, you are one of the bravest, smartest, most honest, loyal and cunning people I know. Do you remember when you scared the shit out of me with that cloak of yours? That was pretty cunning if you ask me." Draco says, scrunching his nose at the memory. 

“And don’t tell me there is anything you wouldn’t do for your friends, because I know you’ll be lying. And not smart? Did you or did you not master the patronus at thirteen? Did you not win the tri-wizard tournament at fourteen? And speaking of the tournament, was it not brave to run into those challenges the way you did? You have good qualities from all the houses Harry. It’s just a question of what would fit you the best. What house can get you where you need to be.”

Listening to Draco as he’s literally praising Harry’s character does something to his eyes. Something that makes them feel like they’re about to cry. Harry doesn’t really believe Draco, but even if nothing he said is true Draco still took the effort to make Harry feel better. Suddenly it’s not his eyes that feel weird, it’s his cheeks. Horrified Harry realises he’s blushing, and he immediately wishes for the ground to open and swallow him whole.

Then, like a miracle, Draco blushes too. His pale cheeks flood with blood and becomes the lightest shade of pink Harry has ever seen on someone’s face. He didn't imagine Draco even had the ability to blush, but when he does he just looks so damn cute! No, Harry shouldn't be thinking that. Draco is a boy, and his friend, Harry can’t think of Draco as cute.

What the hell is wrong with him? He realises he’s gay, and a month later he’s on the train with his ex-nemesis thinking the boy is cute. Is it just because Harry’s realised his own sexuality, is it because he knows Draco shares it. It doesn’t even matter because Draco would never want him that way, and Harry doesn’t want him to. Does he?

Harry needs to stop thinking. He can feel his skin itching for the blade. His thoughts always take over when he hasn’t cut in a while. Realising he’s been lost in thoughts for a while, he looks at Draco again and only to discover that he’s stopped blushing. Strangely disappointed Harry shakes his head, trying to dispel the thought. 

"You get lost in your thoughts a lot, don't you?" Draco asks.

"Yeah, well I have a big head. Lots of place to get lost." Harry jokes, making himself smile.

"You don't have to fake a smile for me Harry, it's ok to not be happy all the time." Draco says.

Shocked Harry opens his mouth to say that actually he wasn’t faking, but something about the defiant look on Draco’s face makes him shut it again, considering before he speaks. 

"In the hospital, you said you knew how it felt. What did you mean by that?" Harry asks.

Draco looks a little uncomfortable and resigned, but not surprised. He probably knew Harry would ask one day, but maybe, Harry thinks, he had hoped he wouldn’t. 

"This is probably going to be a long story, because I want to explain it right, and we do have a very long train ride ahead of us” Draco says, and Harry just nods. 

“As you know I come from an old wizard family. That means we have a lot of money. It also means that there is a lot of expectations on me. My entire life my father decided who I should be, what I should do. Who I should be friends with and who I should love. I never got to decide anything for myself, I didn't have any control. If I tried to disobey my father he would call me a disgrace and threaten to disown me. Well he usually called me a disgrace anyway. I was never good enough for him, and so I was never good enough for myself.” Draco takes a deep breath before continuing. 

“The summer before fifth year was the worst. He wanted me to join Voldemort, but I realised I didn’t. He was never physical, but he didn’t speak to me that whole summer. He just, I don’t know. He had this look that just managed to make me feel so fucked up. When I came back to Hogwarts I wanted to die.”

At this Harry drags in a quick breath, he’d never suspected. 

“I had been depressed for a while I guess, but never that bad. I wanted to kill myself, but I didn't want to give father that satisfaction. So I stuck around, and good thing too I suppose. Otherwise we'd both be dead. When I was in Azkaban I had a lot of time to think. I asked the guards not to let father visit, and when I got out I realised he had disowned me. It was the happiest day of my life. I'm poor now though, feels weird to say that. I used up all my last money to rent a room the past two weeks."

“But..” Harry says, not even knowing how to respond to anything Draco just told him. “Didn’t you say your mother worried if you got home late? When you were over at my flat?”

“I did say that, yes. I still talk to her sometimes, and I had a floo appointment with her that day. I suppose it was easier to lie. I’m sorry.” Draco says. 

"I, just, wow. I had no idea Draco, I'm so sorry. I guess we both know what it's like to be locked up and told you're not good enough then." Draco smiles sadly at Harry, so Harry assumes he’s right in his assumption that Draco have heard rumours of his own upbringing.

"Yeah we do, except I had time to get over it. It sounds weird, but being in Azkaban was good for me. I spent the time there recovering, and I guess changing too. Oh, Merlin! I hope I'm not a Hufflepuff!"

This makes Harry laugh again, and he amazes over how Draco can make him laugh, even after discussing something so serious.

"It's getting dark outside, we must be at Hogwarts soon. How does this whole resorting thing work anyhow? Do we get up there with the first graders?" Harry really hopes they don’t have to do that.   
"I don't think so, I guess we'll just do it after the feast or something. I haven't really thought about it.” Draco says.

"Draco Malfoy, not thinking about something. You really did change!" Harry says, and they both laugh. 

Suddenly a feeling of guilt so strong it threatens to choke him crashes over Harry. He just laughed, and did he, had he flirted with Draco? Harry knows he doesn’t deserve to laugh, and he most certainly does not deserve to be flirting with anyone. What the hell is wrong with him?

"I need to use the loo." he says, rushing out of the compartment.

He needs to cut, he doesn’t have his blades, but he’ll find a way. He has to. Getting to the toilet, he immediately locks the door and looks for something sharp. He’s never been good at transfiguration, so he doesn’t know how to transfigure a blade. 

His frantic search guides his eyes to the mirror. Stopping to look at himself he feels ashamed. He looks crazy; eyes desperate and hands shaking. Thousands of thoughts running through his head, too many for him to make sense of. The mirror! Harry does know how to break and fix a mirror!

He casts a silencing charm so no one will hear the glass break. Then he shoots a jinx at the mirror to break it. At the crash it makes when it falls out of its frame and hits the floor Harry thanks Merlin he had the clarity of mind to use a silencing charm. 

Harry searches the floor for a piece of glass big and sharp enough to fit his needs. Pulling up his sleeve to reveal his tattoo and now, scarred wrist, Harry drags the glass across it. He should be cutting his thigh, as he realised the concealer works only on scars, not fresh cuts, but he can’t wait.

On feeling the pain and seeing the blood slowly rising from the cut his head immediately stills. He can think again, like a wind has stilled and the dust is settled. He drags the glass across his wrist a couple more times, savouring the feeling. Then he grabs some toilet paper and sits down, back to the door.

Harry presses the paper to his fresh cut and waits for the bleeding to stop. He should really get back to Draco to reassure him that it wasn't his fault that he had freaked out. Leaving the paper on his left hand he uses his right to shoot a quick cleaning charm and a reparao to fix the mirror.

A few minutes later Harry feels confident the bleeding has stopped enough for him to leave without fear of bleeding through his clothing. He glances around to look for any evidence of what he’s done, and shoots cleaning charms on the bit of blood he’s gotten on his hands. 

When he re-enters the compartment Draco shoots him a suspicious look, but doesn’t ask, and Harry is grateful beyond words. The rest of the train ride passes in relative silence, both boys spent from their previous conversations. 

As the boys leave the train they’re surprised to see Professor McGonagall waiting for them at the platform. 

“Hello Potter, Malfoy. I’ve been sent to collect you so that we can have you sorted before the rest of the students arrive at the school. I hope you’ve been informed of the re-sorting? The professor says, looking down at them with a stern gaze. 

“Well, not really” Harry says, “but Draco told me you were going to do it.”

Standing before his old head of house, Harry feels suddenly guilty he isn’t sure he’s still a Gryffindor. He decides to let the hat decide for him this time around though, because life has proven he doesn’t always make the best choices when he tries to decide for himself. 

“Well it’s good that you know” McGonagall says, shooting the boys a strange look. She probably wasn’t expecting to see them on friendly terms either, Harry thinks. 

“Now, if you’ll both grab my hand I will side-along you to the school. Dumbledore has opened an apparition spot for the next few minutes so we can get in.”

Harry hurries to grab the professors left hand, making sure he can use his right. He doesn’t want to use his left hand yet, for fear of reopening his cuts. Seconds later a feeling of being squeezed through something way to small hits him, but before he can even react to it the sensation is gone. Opening his eyes he sees the Great Hall for the first time in what he knows is years, but feels like months. 

“Mr. Malfoy, if you would.” McGonagall says, gesturing to the small stool at the head of the hall. Draco smiles at Harry and sits down. As McGonagall places the hat on the blonde’s head, Harry wonders if Draco will still be a Slytherin. But he can’t really imagine the other boy in any other house either. 

The hat takes longer to decide now than it had done in their first year, but after a while it calls out “Slytherin!".

Draco gets up and walks to sit at the empty Slytherin table. He smiles reassuringly at Harry, and Harry is so busy looking McGonagall has to address him to get his attention. 

“Mr. Potter, please sit” she says. 

No idea what to expect Harry sits down on the too small chair and the hat falls over his eyes.

"Well, hello again Harry. You've changed a lot haven't you? And all that sadness in your mind. Don't worry, I won't tell. It's not my place. When we first met I said that you would be a good Slytherin, but you disagreed. I can see now though that you no longer have the same fears of that house you used to have. You still have the Gryffindor courage, but I think that now you will fit best in SLYTHERIN"

The last word is spoken aloud, and the hat is quickly lifted of his head. McGonagall appears to be in shock, so Harry looks over at Draco. The other boy has a huge grin on his face, somehow that is all the reassurance Harry needs. He grins back at Draco and walks over to the Slytherin table.

"The Gryffindork becomes a Slytherin, how does it feel?" Draco asks. 

"It feels good actually, the hat wanted to put me here in first year too. I only ended up in Gryffindor because I begged it not to put me here. I thought you all were evil."

"Cunning yes, a little mean, maybe, but we're not evil. At least not all of us." Draco laughs.

As the rest of the students pour in through the doors to the great Hall Harry and Draco get a lot of weird looks. When they’re all in place Dumbledore welcomes them all back, and informs them Harry has been re-sorted into Slytherin. This seems to shock the students even more than the fact that Harry had been sitting with Draco at the ‘wrong’ table. 

“Ugh, I cannot possibly eat another bite” Draco says, throwing his spoon down on his plate. 

“Well, you are on your fourth serving of that chocolate mousse, so I’m not really surprised” Harry says, poking Draco in the stomach.

“Stop that you barbarian!” Draco laughs, apparently ticklish. “Anyway, I want to leave. Let’s see if they’ve placed us with the sixth years. I think I might die if they have. I don’t do well with sixteen year olds you know?”

Harry just laughs, and he’s glad to realise he’s lost count of the times he’s done so today. 

“Yeah, ok, let’s go then. You can help me find the way to the dungeon. I’ve only been there the one time.” He says, realising his slip up even as he speaks. 

By some weird chance of faith though, Snape, of all people saves him from Draco’s questioning eyes. 

"Potter, Malfoy can I have a word with you two?" The professor says, not waiting for a response before continuing. 

"Welcome to Slytherin, Mr. Potter, and welcome back, Mr. Malfoy. I am here to inform you of your new sleeping arrangements. As you know, people usually share a dorm with the people they take classes with, but we have decided that since you will be attending six year classes and you are both nineteen you should have separate sleeping quarters to the others. There is a new dorm room awaiting you in the Slytherin dungeon. I trust this won't be a problem?" 

"No sir." Draco says, smiling. 

Snape gives them an approving nod and leaves, swishing his cloak like only he can. 

"Is he sick or something? He was all nice to me." Harry says, turning to Draco.

Draco laughs at Harry’s bewildered face. "You're a Slytherin now Harry. A nice Snape comes with the deal."

Harry just shakes his head at the weirdness of the day. He suddenly feels exhausted, and decides he should go look for a bed before he decides to sleep on the floor. 

“Come on, I’m tired. Let’s find our super-secret eight year dorm.” He says.

As they’re making their way to the Slytherin common room Draco looks suspiciously at Harry.  
"What? Do I have something in my teeth or something?" Harry asks, self consciously rubbing his teeth.

"No, I'm simply noticing that you seem to know a lot about how to get to the common rooms, you used to be a Gryffindork, how do you know where we're going? And what did you mean you’ve only been there the one time?" Draco asks. 

Harry wonders for a second whether or not he should tell Draco, and then decides that he should. There really is no point keeping any more secrets at this point. Except the self harm of course, he thinks, automatically pulling on his sleeve to make sure it’s all the way down. 

The rest of the way to the common room they both laugh at how Harry and Ron had broken into the Slytherin common rooms, and how Hermione ended up a cat.

"You used to really hate me though," Harry says, suddenly sad. "You said I was the worst thing at Hogwarts."

Draco stops walking and looks into Harry’s eyes. "I never hated you Harry, I was angry and bitter that you turned down my offer to be friends. And later I was just, well to be honest, when I was mocking you and your friends I just wanted an excuse to talk to you." 

And for the second time that day Draco blushes, soft pink spreading across his cheeks. 

"You are too cute when you blush like that!" Harry says, and immediately puts a hand over his mouth. Did he really just say that, what the hell is WRONG with him?

Looking at Draco he can see the blush darken, and fuck he really had said it. Desperately searching for something to say to diffuse the tension Harry thinks back to what they were actually talking about. 

"Er, well, I mean. I never hated you either. I was just angry because you were mean to my first friend ever." 

"Like I said, I had non-existing social skills." Draco says, apparently jumping at the chance to change the subject back. 

They continue walking, and after turning a corner finds themselves outside the entrance to the Slytherin common room. Realising he doesn’t know the password, and that Draco probably doesn’t either Harry turns to ask the other boy what to do, but soon realises he doesn’t need to. 

A prefect escorting some first years walks around the corner they just turned, confidently walks up to the blank wall and says "House cup". The first years look in amazement as the stone wall melts away to reveal the common room. 

"Seriously, your password is house cup?" Harry asks after the group has passed. 

"Our password Harry, and yes, apparently it is." Draco smiles.

They enter the Slytherin common room together. ‘My common room’ Harry corrects himself, ‘because I'm a Slytherin now. What would my parents think of that, and Sirius?’ Anxiety suddenly shoots through Harry, not really overriding his exhaustion from the day. Simply accompanying it, making him feel some weird mixture of being about to drop and feeling like he might explode if he doesn’t DO something. Would they be disappointed? And the Weasleys and Hermione, will they hate him now?

Feeling someone grab his left wrist Harry hides the wince of pain and looks down to the pale hand circling his wrist. He’s then pulled in the direction of the stairs, up them, and into a room with their names on the door. 

The room has two beds with green covers (of course), and another door that Harry assumes leads to the bathroom. There’s also a couch and a desk. Draco pulls Harry over to the couch and sits down next to him.

"Something is on your mind, talk to me." The blond says.

Harry considers what to say, and decides to stick with his plan of being honest. 

"I'm just worried I guess, about what my parents and Sirius would think if they knew I was in Slytherin. And I'm also worried that my Gryffindor friends will hate me. I just have so many thoughts, and I don't know how to get rid of them or understand them" he says.

Harry hopes Draco won’t make him have a long talk about his emotions or something, he’s not ready for that yet. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be, and he wouldn't know what to say anyway. Draco seems to understand that somehow.  
"No one will hate you Harry, you are to awesome for that! I think you need a good wank. I'll get you my porn, because I have a feeling you don't own any. I think I have both guys and girls so just look at whatever floats your boat."

Shocked Harry watches as Draco walks over to his trunk, opens it and pulls out two magazines. They look just like the muggle magazines Harry had found one time he was cleaning Dudley’s room, except the pictures moved.

"Here, take these. I'll, uhm, just be in the common room. Take your time." Draco says.

Too embarrassed to say anything Harry just accepts the magazines, mouth hanging open. Realising Draco had left he dares a look at them. The first magazine shows pictures of naked girls. Harry flips through the pages, but nothing really catches his interest. Tentatively he looks over at the other magazine, and is faced with picture after picture of naked men. Alone or together. 

Harry realises he’s never seen gay porn before, and that he’s only really glanced at ‘regular’ porn. He’s never really been one to wank much either. Only in the shower to make his morning wood go away, he’s never really seen the point.

Curiosity gets to him though, and he finds himself slowly leafing through the magazine. He realises that he’s actually interested in what he’s seeing, and the bulge in his pants just confirms it. He can’t stop looking at the perfect six-packs or nice arses of the men in the magazine. He turns the page and sees a blond man, skinny but muscled. The man has his hand wrapped around his cock, and it is gorgeous.

Harry shifts on the couch, he’s never been this hard in his life. He knows he shouldn’t want this, and he knows that it’s ok, and he knows a lot of things, all of them conflicting inside his head. But at this moment he can’t bring himself to care. He stands off the couch, moving to his bed. Pulling of his robes as he’s walking. Safely in his bed he pulls the curtains shut and shoves his pants to his knees. Not even bothering to take them all the way off. Then he finally wraps his hand around his hard cock like the man in the picture. And oh, Merlin that feels amazing. He starts moving his hand and he has to bite his lip from shouting out.

Wanking when he’s really horny is something entirely different to just quickly getting of to release tension. Harry allows his mind to wander while he continues to move his hand up and down. He looks back at the picture and imagines the man getting on his knees and putting his mouth around Harry’s dick, at the thought Harry does moan. He didn't even know it was possible to be this hard.

His cock throbs as he moved his hand faster and faster, imagining a blond head bobbing up and down, swallowing him whole. 

"Aaah, Draco" Harry moans as he orgasms all over his hand and stomach. Pleasure pulses through him, it’s the single most amazing thing Harry has ever felt. Breathing hard he decides not to bother worrying about the fact that he called out Draco's name as he climaxed. Draco is a very attractive guy, and Harry knows the other boy is gay. It’s probably just some weird mind connection.

When Harry regains some control over his body he cleans up the mess he’s made, puts the magazines on Draco's bed and then lies back down on his own. Harry feels happy, sort of. He doesn’t feel the need to cut anymore at least. He knows this is no replacement, because he needs his cutting. But maybe this can help sometimes, maybe there are other ways to feel ok as well. He falls asleep before Draco gets back.


	6. Stories

Harry wakes to a soft light flowing in through the window. Still half asleep he wonders what’s wrong with the weather to give the light the bluish green tint he can see. When the confusion of just waking up subsides, and he puts on his glasses, he realises it’s not the weather. The window in the room he now shares with Draco is below water, and the sunlight has to go through several feet of water before it reaches them. Harry had always felt like the undergrown dungeon of the slytherins would be gloomy, but the soft glow of his new room looks anything but. 

He looks over at the bed next to his own, and sees Draco sleeping peacefully. The other boy hadn’t drawn his curtains last night either, and Harry admires how the soft light dances over his blond hair. Then he sees the magazines on Draco’s bedside table. It’s the magazines he had wanked to the night before. The magazine with the blond man, who had apparently reminded him of Draco, seeing as he clearly remembers calling out the boy’s name. 

Desperate to find something else to think of, Harry studies the room. It actually looks nice, and he thinks he can get used to living here. But is that a good thing? How can he be so comfortable here, in the slytherin dungeon? ‘Maybe it’s because I am a slytherin now’ he tells himself, but does that mean he’s no longer a gryffindor? How will Ron and Hermione feel about that? Ron in particular has always hated slytherins. And Hagrid too, they’re the reason Harry begged not to be put here in the first place. 

Will the Weasley family reject him now? Will his friends?

“Fuck” Harry says under his breath, not wanting to wake Draco. There are too many thoughts in his head, and none of them are safe. He can’t think about where he is, because that means thinking about being a slytherin. He can’t think about his friends, because then he has to think about how they might hate him now. He can’t think about Draco, because then he’ll have to consider what made him call out the other boys name as he orgasmed last night. Harry lets his eyes search the room for something, anything that will be safe to actually think about.

Inspiration strikes when his eyes lands on the empty owl cage he’s brought with him. Hermione had explained that when he almost died, Hedwig had refused to leave Hogwarts. Taking up a nest in the owlery and not coming down for anyone. Hedwig is definitely a safe topic, and it’s also something for Harry to do. He’ll go visit her at the owlery, showing her he’s fine. Maybe she’ll feel better again. Maybe he will to. 

He stands quietly, grabbing a change of clothes, his toiletries and the socks were he’s hidden his blades, then he makes for the bathroom. The bathroom is the same size as the one he shared with four other boys in gryffindor, only now he only shares it with Draco. There are two sinks, two shower cubicles, two toilet cubicles and one cubicle he’s happy to see contains a large bathtub. He places his things on the counter next to the sink and studies his face in the mirror. 

He looks horrible, and he wonders how it’s possible to look significantly worse every single time he finds himself staring at a mirror. Harry decides he definitely needs a shower, and starts to undress, eyes now avoiding the mirror. He doesn’t want to see himself, or the sunken, dead eyes looking back at him. 

It’s strangely amazing, he thinks, how he can go from masturbating and feeling kinda happy one day, to just feeling so down and depressed that he doesn’t know what to do with himself the next. When he’s done undressing he studies the cuts he made on the train yesterday. They’ve scabbed over nicely, and it won’t be too long until he can put some concealer on it to hide the cuts completely when he needs to. Continuing to cut there is going to be a problem though, as the concealer only works when the cuts are healed. 

What will he do when he can’t wear long sleeves, like in potions class. He really doesn’t want anyone to find out, and yet he want’s someone to know, to comfort him. No, he thinks, he’s so worthless no one would care if they found out. The only result will be them knowing how utterly pathetic and stupid Harry is. They’ll think he did it for attention, or that he’s sick in the head needs to be locked up. Harry doesn’t want either, and besides if someone knew he was cutting himself he wouldn't be able to do it anymore. Not cutting isn’t an option.  
Instead he considers the scars on his thigh, those will be easier to hide. The only reason to take his pants off in front of someone is in the quidditch locker room. And Harry is pretty sure they won’t let him and Draco play, seeing as they are older than the other students. Harry doesn’t even know if he wants to play anymore. A realisation that should probably scare him more than it does. 

“So” Harry says, speaking aloud to himself in the small bathroom, “no more cutting my arms. Stick to the thighs from now on.” Pleased that he’s made a decision he decides to add a couple of cuts to his thighs, just to get back in the habit of doing it there again. Then he jumps in the shower and relishes in the sting of the water, and how it runs a bit pink down the drain.

Harry makes it to the owlery without bumping into another person. Judging by how low the sun still sits on the horizon it must be rather early, and no student willingly gets out of bed before breakfast on a Saturday. Except Harry it seems. 

“Hedwig?” he calls softly, looking above himself to the nests placed all the way up the walls of the owlery.

“Hedwig? It’s me, Harry. I’m sorry for leaving you for so long. Are you here?” he tries again.

A white blur shot from one of the nests closest to the ceiling and heads straight towards him, and seconds later he has his hands full of snowy white owl. 

Hedwig pecks affectionately on his fingers, his hair and his nose. Preening in his hands, then she stills and looks at him, hooting softly.

“Hello Hedwig, it’s good to see you too! I’m really sorry I’ve been gone for so long. I was sick. But I’m back now. And I’ll never..” Harry breaks off, suddenly realising he can’t honestly promise the owl he’ll never leave her again. He’s trying his best, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever try to kill himself again. But he wants to, he wants to so much that he can’t honestly make the promise. 

What would Sirius and his parents say if they saw him like this? They’re probably relieved they’re dead so they don’t have to deal with me Harry thinks. Feeling like he needs to cry Harry decides to allow himself the luxury, there isn’t anyone but owls around, and he needs to let some emotions out. Not a single tear comes though, like there is some sort of blockage. Refusing him this relief, like he doesn’t deserve it. And maybe I don’t he thinks, pressing his eyelids together before opening his eyes and giving up. 

“Come on Hedwig, let’s go down to my new dormitory. I want to show you how it looks. It’s under water you know.”

Hedwig hoots in response and Harry decides to take it as a yes. 

“Morning” Draco says when Harry enter their room and Harry jumps. He’d thought the other boy was still sleeping. Draco starts laughing

“Fuck, you scared the shit out of me” Harry says. 

“Oh Merlin, you should have seen your face!” Draco laughs. 

Harry offers Draco a smile, then holds out his hand to show off Hedwig.

“I don’t think I’ve ever introduced you two. Draco this is Hedwig, the best owl known to wizard kind. Hedwig, this is Draco, he’s a git who enjoys laughing at other peoples pain”

“Hey!” Draco protests, but Harry ignores him.

“We used to be proper enemies, but we’re not anymore, so be nice to him please” he finishes.

“What so we’re only ‘not enemies’ now?” Draco asks, “I thought me saving your life, us sharing sexual interests, and me sharing my porn would at least make us qualify as friends.” 

Harry studies the other boys face, and although Draco puts on a brave mask, somewhere Harry can still see the eleven year old boy, and how his face had fallen when Harry refused his hand. 

“ ‘Course we’re friends” he says, “it’s only that it’s a lot more interesting to introduce you as my ‘anti-enemy’, makes us sound bad ass, don’t you think?”

Draco laughs again, shaking his head.

“I think that with us being slytherins, the banisher of Voldemort and an ex-convict, as well as the oldest students at this school we’re plenty bad as is. The other students here will probably shit their pants around us, that or do some crazy hero worship.” Draco says.

“Merlin I hope not” Harry says, smiling. “I don’t think I can stand anyone shitting their pants, or wanting to lick my arse thank you very much.”

“Hm, funny. I always rather enjoyed having my arse liked. Literally and figuratively speaking.” Draco says, smirking.

Harry blushes at the mental image of Draco literally having his arse licked. He figures the thought should put him of his dinner, but instead it makes blood rush to his face and his cock. 

“Uhm” he says, looking anywhere but Draco, feeling extremely awkward. “We should get to breakfast right? Yeah, I’m uh, I’ll go wash.” 

“Didn’t you shower this morning?” Draco asks, smirk widening. 

“No, or, I mean, yes I did. But the owlery wasn’t too clean. I’ll just wash up a bit” Harry says, escaping to the bathroom as he finishes the sentence. 

Harry catches sight of his red face in the mirror, so he splashes his face with water hoping to cool it down. What the fuck was that, he wonders. Was Draco just trying to make him uncomfortable? Or was he trying to make him comfortable with the whole gay thing? Either way he’d succeeded. The way Draco talked so casually about it made Harry feel a bit better about being gay, like it might be normal. On the other hand, the offhand comment about his own arse made Harry extremely uncomfortable. Of course Draco had also managed to make Harry turned on, something Harry wasted no time in deciding to ignore. 

“Harry? What’s taking so long?” Draco asks from behind the door, trying the handle and finding it locked. “I haven’t been to the bathroom yet, and I could really use the toilet.”

Harry takes a breath and makes sure he looks somewhat presentable before opening the door. 

“Sorry, I think I locked the door mostly on autopilot.” Harry lies.

“No problem” Draco says, heading for the toilets, locking himself in the cubicle.  
Harry opens his toiletry bag searching for his toothbrush, the first thing he sees though is some healing salve he bought after getting his tattoo. Maybe he should put some on his wrist, just so he can use the concealer on it after. That way he won’t have to worry about his sleeve sliding up during the day. 

He decides quickly, pulling up his sleeve and applying the salve. After a few seconds of itching the cuts start healing at a rapid speed. He pulls out the concealer and applies it as he hears Draco flush the toilet. He stares at his wrist, praying for the concealer to take effect before Draco comes out of his cubicle. 

When the door opens Harry holds his wrist to his stomach, quickly turning around to face the blonde. 

“What do you look so guilty for?” Draco asks, walking to the sinks to wash his hands. 

“Uhm, nothing, I was just looking for my toothbrush” Harry says.

“No you weren’t, what are you hiding?” Draco asks, stepping towards him.

“I’m not hiding anything” Harry says desperately. 

“Then why are you holding your hand like that?”

“No reason” Harry insists. Draco just scowls at him, then grabs Harry’s wrist without warning, turning it around to face himself. Harry winces, and looks hurriedly at his wrist. The concealer has finally started working, and his wrist looks as smooth as ever. 

“You have a tattoo” Draco says, and Harry realises that of course Draco would see that. He only covered up his scars, and was so worried about Draco seeing them that he forgot all about the tattoo. 

“Yeah, I got it about a month ago” he says “I just wanted something, I don’t know, different. New.”

“I’m guessing the lily is for your mother” Draco says, and Harry nods. “Did you know lilies symbolise rebirth? I think it fits perfectly for something new. They’re supposed to heal heartache too, if you believe the Chinese.”

Harry looks at Draco in amazement. He hadn’t really thought about how someone would react to his tattoo, but getting information about it to give it an even deeper meaning than he had thought of himself, was not what he would have expected. 

“Thank you, I didn’t know that. Now I love it even more!” he says, smiling at Draco. 

“Why didn’t you mention it when we talked about being ‘bad-asses’ your tattoo perfectly fits that image, don’t you think?” Draco asks, grinning.

“I just kina forgot about it if I’m honest. It’s still so new, and just part of me I guess. I don’t really think about it much.” Harry says, shrugging. 

“You should wear short sleeves more often, show it off” Draco says. Harry just smiles back at him, silently thinking that he feels very naked in short sleeves, despite the concealer hiding the scars. He can still feel them, and he’s worried the concealer will suddenly wear off. 

Draco finally lets go of Harry’s wrist, but the heat there lingers, and Harry lightly brushes his fingers over the spot Draco had softly rubbed his thumb. Feeling awkward again Harry turns to the sink to find his toothbrush, deciding to actually get ready for breakfast. 

The day passes, Harry doesn’t really know how else to describe it. Lying in bed that night he wonders what he had expected. Did he really think being at Hogwarts would be so different to being at home? Sure he had people around him a lot, and he had Draco, a friend to talk to. He was out and about, instead of stuck inside on his couch. But he didn’t feel any different. Things he knows should probably have affected him just.. didn’t.

Being around people somehow manages to make him endlessly tired, and give him energy at the same time. Being around Draco has the same effect, only amplified by a thousand. Harry actually feels alive around the other boy, but the feeling takes everything out of him. Which is how he’s ended up in bed before the other boy, exhausted. He wonders how he will handle his lessons tomorrow, how he will muster up the concentration to actually pay attention in class. 

Sighing he turns over. Thoughts of Draco, Hermione, Ron, his parents, Sirius, Remus, his self-harm, his apathy, his suicide attempt, his homosexuality, Dean, Seamus, school and just about everything that has the power to sting his brain like the thoughts each carry around a small invisible knife flutter about his brain. Harry angrily smashes his head repeatedly against his pillow. “stop. thinking. stop. thinking.” he says to himself on each impact with the pillow. He turns over again in frustration. How is it even possible to be this tired, and be unable to sleep. 

He desperately needs something to focus on, so he starts doing something he hasn’t done since he was living in the cupboard under the stairs; he tells himself a story. In his mind he tells himself the story of how his life would have turned out if Voldemort never excised. A story where he lives with his parents, and the Halloween when he’s one years old is celebrated with costumes and kids knocking on their door. Not Voldemort murdering his family. He makes the story slow, mapping out full conversations between his parents. Visits from their friends. By the time he falls asleep he’s imagined his life up until what would have been his second Christmas with his parents. 

He wakes up late the next morning, realising Draco must already be at breakfast when he can’t find the other boy in their room. He glances at the clock on his bedside table and curses, breakfast is almost over already. He rushes through his morning routine, only considering for a few seconds before stuffing the socks containing his blades into his rucksack. 

Harry decides to skip breakfast and head straight for his first class, upon studying his schedule though, he finds it mostly empty. Scrawled in letters he would recognise anywhere from the sarcastic and often cruel comments on his potions essays was a note: See your head of house before classes to fill in subjects based on your O.W.L.S.

Harry realises he doesn’t even know how he did in his O.W.L.S., he probably received that letter when he was in a coma. He’s half a mind to go find McGonnegal before he remembers that Snape is his head of house now. This could be awkward he thinks as he walks towards Snape’s office. If nothing else, his countless detentions and occlumency lessons has at least given him the location of the potions professors office. 

Standing in front of the office door Harry realises he hasn’t been there since he saw all of Snape's memories in fifth year. It feels like yesterday to Harry, but he knows it’s been years. He clings to this information, hoping, in vain he thinks, Snape has gotten over it. Gathering his courage, he knocks. 

"Potter, why does it not surprise me that you are the last student to see me about your schedule? Of course most of the students did this at breakfast, but not you. Oh no." Snape looks disapprovingly at Harry as he speaks, but Harry realises Snape's eyes lack the usual hate and disgust they usually hold when looking at Harry.

"Sorry professor, I'm here now. Though I don't really know what my O.W.L.S. scores are." Harry says and Snape starts leafing through some papers on his desk. 

"Do you know what subjects you wish to take?" the professor asks.

Harry stops to think about that for a while. Does he really care what subjects he takes? As long as it’s nothing that takes too much concentration?

"Well I want to take DADA, but other than that I don't really know." It’s more like he doesn’t care, but he can’t exactly tell Snape that.

"Well, you told McGonagall in your fifth year that you wanted to be an auror, is that still the case?" Snape asks impatiently, so Harry decides to just agree. He doesn’t know if he does want to be an auror anymore, if he’s honest with himself what he wants is not to live that long.

“You did well enough on your owls to continue with the classes you need Potter, though I must say it amazes me” Snape says, taking Harrys schedule and tapping his wand to it. “I expect you to work hard, do not embarrass your new house. You’re dismissed”

Harry takes his schedule back from the older man and leaves without saying anything else. Being around Snape feels strange. It’s obvious the man doesn’t like him at all, but it doesn’t feel like he hates him either. Considering his future doesn’t make Harry feel too great either. He wishes he could take his own life, end his suffering and nothingness. He still considers doing it, even though he hates to admit it. He knows it would be wrong though. As long as Harry being alive can be of benefit to anyone, he can’t kill himself. He curses his stupid hero complex for keeping him alive.

Harry looks down on his schedule to distract himself. His first class is defence against the dark arts, and he almost smiles. Hopefully they won’t have some completely useless teacher this year. He doesn’t remember seeing anyone at the head table in the great hall, but he knows some of the teachers didn’t arrive until late last night. After DADA he has history of magic, then charms, transfiguration, potions and herbology. Harry figures it’s not the worst subjects he could have had.

Harry makes it to the DADA classroom before the teacher does, and he’s happy to find Draco standing in line for the class too. It seems the Slytherins will have DADA with the Hufflepuffs, judging by the amount of students with yellow ties flocking around the doors. 

“Harry, there you are!” Draco says, walking up to him. “I worried you wouldn’t make it.”

“Morning” Harry says. “I might have overslept a little, then I had to meet up with Snape. Looks like I made it in time though.”

“Here, I brought you a sandwich. You need to eat properly; my mother always says breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Draco says, handing Harry a napkin-wrapped sandwich. 

“Thanks” Harry smiles, “do you know who the teach..” his question about the teacher is interrupted as the doors to the classroom swings open. 

“Come on, let’s go inside. I want good seats.” Draco says, dragging Harry by the arm to a pair of seats close to the front of the classroom. 

As soon as everyone has found themselves a seat the door leading to the office in the back of the classroom opens, and out comes Remus Lupin. Harry stares. Lupin is working here again? Knowing he should feel happy Harry grins at the professor. And he is happy, sort of. But there is also a nagging feeling of there being another person around for Harry to disappoint, another person that could potentially find out about Harry’s issues. Another person that would probably be sad, or maybe even blame himself if Harry died. 

"Good morning class," Lupin says. "Welcome back, and to those who weren't with us last year," he says looking at Harry and Draco, "I am back in the position as teacher for defence against the dark arts, my second year now."

Lupin smiles warmly at Harry, and Harry smiles back. He hasn’t seen Lupin since before the coma, and the smile soothes a worry he didn’t even fully realise he had. It appeared Lupin wasn’t mad at Harry for getting Sirius killed.

"Today we will be doing some repetition from earlier years, do any of you have suggestions for things you never fully mastered or things you have forgotten?" Lupin says.

A Hufflepuff girl hesitantly raises her hand. "Well, I'd love to try fighting a bogart again. I never really got the hang of it the first time."

"Wonderful idea” Lupin says “I’ll have to find a bogart to do that though. So how about we practice some spells for the rest of the lesson and we’ll do the boggart another time?"

The class looks pleased with that, and starts chatting among themselves about what spells they want to practice. Harry sees that Lupin is just as popular now as he was when Harry had him in third grade. They spend the entire lesson casting spells from the curriculum of first year and up, Harry excels at them all. That is, until they try casting the patronus charm.  
Harry has always been good at the patronus spell, casting it with little difficulty since he had learned it from Lupin himself in his third year. Now however, Harry can’t even make a dim light appear from the tip of his want. He tries finding a happy memory, but although he knows he has memories of times in which he has been happy, he can’t summon the feeling anymore. It’s like a layer of darkness covers all the memories he had previously considered good, now making them blurry and factual. He can remember winning the house cup, he can remember that he felt happy, but he can’t actually feel the happiness when he pulls the memory to the front of his mind. 

When Harry realises this he puts his wand down and stops trying, knowing there is no point. There isn’t anything wrong with his spellcasting, there is something wrong with him. 

"Having trouble with your patronus, Harry?" Lupin asks, approaching Harry from behind. 

Harry just nods. He doesn’t really know how to act around Lupin now, and especially in the classroom in front of the other students.

"Will you come see me during your lunch break Harry, I believe we have a lot to discuss." Lupin asks.

Harry is about to nod again, when he sees the look on Lupin’s face. The older man looks worried. He probably realises something is wrong because Harry can’t produce a patronus anymore. 

“I, uh, I was thinking about going back to the dormitories to get some sleep actually. I’m not feeling well today, that’s probably why I can’t get the patronus to work. I think I have a cold or something.” Harry says, avoiding Lupin’s eyes as he lies. 

“If you’re sick maybe you should go to madam Pomfrey?” Lupin suggests, but Harry is shaking his head before the professor finishes. 

“It’s nothing serious, really. A little sleep and some food and I’ll be fine tomorrow. And if I’m not I promise I’ll go to the hospital wing.” Harry says, trying for a reassuring smile. 

Lupin appears to accept the answer, and moves on to the next student who appears to be struggling. Harry sags in his chair, feeling relieved and guilty at the same time. He glances over at Draco, only to find the other boy giving him a suspicious look.

“Please don’t start” Harry says “I really am tired, and I just.. I can’t deal with the conversation he probably wants to have with me right now.”

“I know you’re tired, you sure as fuck look tired. I’m just worried why. You slept like twelve hours tonight, so you shouldn’t be” Draco says.

Harry forces himself to laugh.

“I probably slept too much then, I get shit tired if I sleep too much” he says, forcing a yawn. “Fuck, I can’t concentrate at all, I will definitely fall asleep in history of magic. Then again, I always do that, so it’s nothing new.”

“Who doesn’t fall asleep in that class, well except Granger of course” Draco says. Harry jumps on the change of subject.

“You always looked pretty aware, taking notes and everything” 

Draco laughs, making his eyes light up.

“I mostly spent those lessons doing my homework for other classes actually. If I was especially tired I’d place a modified silencing charm on my head so I wouldn’t hear the professor. He has a voice that could send the most caffeinated, well rested person to sleep.” the blonde says.

The first day of classes pass. Just like the day before, and just like the days after. There are moments of course, that break Harry out of the monotony of his days. Most of them he spends with Draco. There is the story he tells himself when he needs to sleep, continuing each night where he fell asleep the night before. There is his cutting, and the temporary relief it gives him. There is dodging into empty classrooms, and making up excuses to avoid Lupin. There is guilt. There is the growing urge to be close to Draco, and the effort to supress it. 

Mostly though, Harry just exists, and the days just pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Hedwig is back, and Remus! Just a fair warning here - I'm using my own experiences with depression and SH to try to make this story reflect some sort of reality of mental illness. That means there wont be some short magic ending of Harry and Draco just falling in love, and that alone "fixing" Harry. It won't be all sad and depressing either though, because life is rarely that black and white, even though it might feel like it sometimes. 
> 
> I also want to thank everyone who's commented, it really keeps me motivated to keep going with the story! And again, please feel free to point out any mistakes I might have made while writing this.


	7. The Boggart

Harry groans as the alarm wakes him up. He’s tired, too tired he decides before turning of the alarm and going back to sleep. He feels like he’s only just shut his eyes when someone shakes him.

“Harry, you have to get up. You’ll be late for class” Draco says, and Harry detects a note of annoyance in the other boys tone. 

“Leave me alone” he says, not ready to wake up and face the day, “I’ll sleep through breakfast. It’s fine.” Harry hears a muttered “Lumos maxima” and winces at the strong light in the room. 

“You already slept through breakfast. If you don’t get out of bed now you’ll be late for class.” Draco says.

Suddenly annoyed Harry turns over in bed to face the blurry image of the other boy. Their first class of the day is defence against the dark arts, and Harry doesn’t have the energy to dodge Lupin’s attempts to talk with him in private. You really think the professor would have given up after being avoided for almost three months. 

“So I’ll miss the first class then. It’s no big deal Draco, I really just need some more sleep. I’m tired.” Harry says, turning over in bed again.

“You’re always tired Harry, you’ve been tired every fucking day since we got here. If it’s such a fucking pain being at school, then maybe you shouldn’t have come back here.” Draco says, and Harry can hear the anger in his voice now. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have.” He says, defeated. The anger he’d felt seconds ago leaking through the holes in his brain as soon as it had risen, leaving him empty. 

“Whatever” Draco says, grabbing his rucksack and leaving their room.

Harry turns over in bed again, knowing there is no hope of going back to sleep. He feels way to guilty. If there is some sort of cup in peoples’ brains meant to hold emotions, Harry thinks, his is full of holes. Only emotions like guilt, anxiety or self-hatred gets to stay in the cup longer than a few minutes, because they’re too big, clumpy and sticky to fall out of the holes. Of course, that means Harry always feels like shit, or numb, or both. 

He knows he should get to class. Knows he’s being a burden on Draco, knows it would be simple. All he has to do is get out of bed, put on his robes and walk to class. But today feels different from the past two and a half months. Harder, or maybe heavier. Harry looks out the underwater window. The lake had frozen over sometime in the past week, and it makes the sunlight look dimmer. It’s even darker today than it had been yesterday, so maybe snow has covered the ice overnight. 

Harry covers his eyes with his hands, pressing down. He has to go to class, and he has to go now. His body refuses to move though. Like he’s frozen over too, but didn’t really notice it until the snow had opportunity to cover his entire body in a thick blanket. Freezing him to his chore and weighing him down. At least that’s how it feels, Harry thinks, as he tries to make himself do something. He knows he can move his body, and he does, using his hand to scratch at some cuts that have scabbed over on his thighs. Finding the energy to do something as simple as getting out of bed and emptying his bladder seems impossible though.

“This can’t be happening” Harry says to the empty room. I can’t kill myself, he thinks, I’ve already decided that. I can’t hurt everyone around me just so I can have some relief. And yes, I know they might be better off without me here, but if they know I’ve killed myself they’ll blame themselves. I’m not worth that. So I need to live, but I need to function well enough that they don’t have to worry about me. I just, I need to get through these last two years of Hogwarts. Then I can move away, just distance myself from everyone for a while so they won’t feel responsible when I die. Or push everyone away enough that they won’t care too much when I die, whichever comes first. But I can’t be too obvious about it, and that’s why I have to “GET OUT OF BED”. Harry says the last words out loud, slapping himself in the face, and forcing his feet out on the floor. 

He drags his body to the bathroom he shares with Draco, deciding to skip a shower. He needs to piss before class though, and he has to get dressed. Two things, he tells himself, piss, get dressed, and go. He cuts himself too, three quick lines on his thigh with one of the razorblades he’s hidden in the bathroom. Draco drinks coffee to get through the day, Harry cuts. At some point, Harry would probably have been able to see the difference between the two, but now the cutting is just routine. Just something to get him through the day. The only difference he can see, is that he can never tell anyone about it. 

He arrives outside the defence class twenty minutes late, and he considers just blowing it off and going back to his bed. But he knows he can’t, knows that if he goes back to bed right now he won’t get back out. So he grinds his teeth, pushes his thumb into the fresh cuts on his thighs, and enters the room. Immediately he feels guilty, because Draco has saved him a seat. Somehow after Harry being rude, after Harry refusing to go to this class, Draco still decided to save him a seat, just in case he shows up. 

“Harry, good of you to finally join us” Lupin says from the top of the classroom “unfortunately you’re twenty minutes late, so I will see you in detention. Meet me after the class for details.”  
Harry almost groans. He’s managed to avoid Lupin all of September, October and half of November, but now he’s given the man the perfect opportunity to see him. He can’t skip out on detention, because then he’ll just get more, as well as loosing house points. 

“Yes, professor” he says, walking over to sit next to Draco. 

“Sorry” Draco whispers as soon as Lupin restarts the lecture he’s holding on modified shield charms. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad. I’m just, well, if you must know I’m worried about you. And I’m not good at being worried, so I just get mad instead.”

“It’s fine” Harry says, trying for a smile. “I was being a grumpy idiot. It’s very understandable for you to get mad.”

“You’ve been using ‘tired’ as an excuse for months now Harry, and you don’t have to. I know you struggle, I saved you from your suic-”

“shh” Harry interrupts franticly. “Don’t talk about that here. And besides, I’m fine. No need to worry.”

Something about Draco’s eyes makes Harry think the other boy would very much like to burn every dictionary in the world containing the word fine. 

His detention is set for Saturday, so at least he has the rest of the day to mentally prepare for it. He’d started avoiding the professor because he didn’t want another person around to worry about him, another person to find out his secrets. However, after avoiding the man for so long Harry also worries that Lupin will be angry with him. Despite him brushing off Draco’s apology for being angry, Harry’s never been good at dealing with anger in other people. It always manages to remind him of his uncle, and he ends up feeling like a five-year-old who’s scared to be sent to his cupboard without food. 

The next class they have is history of magic, and Harry finds himself spending the entire first half of the class planning what he can or can’t say to Lupin. Does he want to tell the professor he’s gay? Or will he be told his parents would hate him for it? Maybe it’s better to know than it is to wonder? Should he apologise for getting Sirius killed? What would Sirius think about how pathetic Harry is now? Why does Lupin want to talk with him so badly? Harry glances over at Draco from time to time, the boy looks like he always does during history of magic classes; like he’s paying attention. Now that Harry’s sitting next to him though, he can see that the notes Draco appears to be carefully taking, is in fact their potions homework. 

Draco catches him looking, and sends Harry a grin. Then he takes out a blank piece of paper and writes:

_‘Are you all right? You look worried’_

Harry considers before writing back.

**Not really, worried about detention.**   
_Why, do you think he’ll be mad?_   
**I don’t know. It’s just weird with him, he knew my parents. What if he says they’d hate me for being gay?**   
_He won’t. Your mom and dad fought for equality remember? They would love you no matter what._   
**Even if I’m mentally fucked up?**

Harry finds it easier to talk when he’s not talking. He can ask Draco questions without having to look at the other boy, or actually say the question out loud. He hasn’t actually admitted to Draco that he struggles mentally since school started. 

_Yeah, even if you are. I know I don’t think any less of you for your psychological problems. And I have to admit I rather like that you’re gay._   
**Yeah.. but you’re different. You just understand things. Which I never thought I’d write to you by the way. How do you do it though, just know things without me telling you?.**   
_I’m not different Harry, lots of people would understand mental struggles, you just have to give them the chance. You could give me a chance too, I know you don’t like talking about it, but it might help. I’ll listen you know? And I know a lot because I spend a lot of time watching you, I rather like watching you._   
**I know I don’t talk about it much, it’s just. I don’t know. Scary I guess. And it’s my shit to deal with, you shouldn’t have to be burdened by it.**   
_Harry, we’re friends now. I CARE about you. You wouldn’t burden me if you told me about what you struggle with. I’d feel grateful that you trusted me enough to tell me. And I’d be really happy if I could be some small help._   
**Thank you Draco, really. I’ll think about it ok? I think that’s the best I can do right now. I’m not sure I know the words to explain it yet. I trust you though, really!**   
_You don’t have to rush Harry, but I’m here. I’m here whenever you need me to be._

Harry smiles gratefully at Draco after reading the last line. He sees Draco write something else on the paper, but the other boy tucks it into his bag instead of passing it back to Harry, so Harry assumes it’s just a note for later.   
That evening Draco sits down next to Harry on his bed, demanding help with his muggle studies homework. 

“It just doesn’t make any sense does it, why do they have boxes of all shapes and sizes that talk to them?” Draco says, looking frustrated as he gets comfortable next to Harry 

Harry puts away his own homework to look at what Draco is trying to show him. 

“Look at this one, he’s even talking TO the box. Why do they do that Harry?” Draco asks, scooting closer so he can place the book on their now aligned thighs. 

Harry looks at the picture of a muggle man talking on a cell phone and smiles to himself.

“He’s not talking to the box; he’s talking through it. What he says is sent through the air, to someone else so they can hear him and talk back. It’s called a telephone.” he explaines. 

“Are you serious? Where is this other person then? Why do they need the box phone thing to talk?” Draco asks, scrunching his nose. 

Harry thinks the other boy looks way to cute when he doesn’t understand something.

“The other person can be wherever really. Next door, another town, another country. It’s a lot like a floo call, only you can’t see the person’s face. And you can carry the phone with you, so you can call from anywhere.”

“Harry, that is amazing. A truly amazing invention. The muggles don’t have magic, but they can send voices through the air from one box to another? Are you sure they don’t have magic and just doesn’t tell anyone? HARRY!!” Draco places his hand on Harry’s thigh in his excitement at the invention of phones. “You HAVE to try this with me! We should box call each other! You live in a muggle part of London, we could probably buy these boxes there!”

Harry laughs, studying with interest how Draco’s eyes light up when he’s excited about something. How that makes his whole face change. 

“Yeah, we can do that. We could try it over the Christmas holls if you want? I don’t really have any plans.” Harry says, half delighted and half regretting that he won’t spend all of Christmas isolated in his flat. 

“Awesome! Won’t you be with Ron and Hermione though? I thought you always spend your Christmases with Ron’s family?” Draco asks.

“I don’t really know, I had that fight with them before Hogwarts and it’s just been weird since I woke up.” Harry says, wanting to mentally pull away, but finding it hard when Draco is so close physically. 

“You haven’t spoken with them?” Draco asks.

“Sort of, they wrote me before Hogwarts after I apologized, and they’ve written me a few times since. It’s just that I don’t know what to say to them. They’re different now, grown up with jobs and stuff. I’m still in school, and I feel different too. There’s no Voldemort, so I don’t have to be ready to fight all the time. And I think maybe that’s given my mental stuff time to fuck me up a bit more.” Harry says. He doesn’t mention that he’s also creating some sort of distance on purpose, because he’s scared that they’ll find out his secrets. His fucked up mental health and his sexuality. And pretending makes him so tired, it exhausts him. 

“You do realise that it’s completely natural for you to struggle with some things after what you’ve been through right? It’s not a weakness, it’s just, being human.” Draco says.

His words reminds Harry of what Dumbledore told him after Sirius died, how his pain is what makes him human.

“Well, maybe I don’t want to be human, if it’s pain that makes me one.” He mutters, giving Draco the same answer he’d given Dumbledore. 

“Pain isn’t the only thing that makes you human Harry, it’s just one aspect. What makes you human is love, it’s concern and care. It’s pain too, but it’s so much more. It’s laughing at me when I get excited, or when I don’t understand something. It’s fighting, feeling anger rushing through your body. It’s thoughts and emotions. It’s magic. You are human Harry, and you do want to be one. Even though you might not always feel like it.”

“Oh.” Says Harry, trying and failing to come up with a more eloquent reply. 

Draco reaches over the book to take Harry’s hand, intertwining their fingers. He uses his thumb to stroke Harry’s wrist, and Harry’s glad it’s the right one, the one he hasn’t cut. Draco’s hand is warm, and the stroking sends tingles all the way up Harry’s arm. 

“Feel that?” Draco asks. “That heat, that motion, the feelings. You’re human Harry, and you’re alive. And so am I. I learned to love being alive, and one day you will too.”

“I never said I don’t love being alive.” Harry protests, all the while knowing he’s not making a very good argument.

“You didn’t say it in words, but I can see it Harry. I can see the exhaustion in your eyes. I can see you struggle to pay attention in class, or even follow a conversation when more than two people are involved. I see how you try to distance yourself from people who care. I can see how slow your movements gotten, as if you’re moving in slow motion. I know you’ve lost interest in a lot of stuff, you haven’t flown once since we got back to school. I see it, and I see you, and you’re not alone.” 

It’s too much. Harry’s tried so hard to hide it, he uses all of his effort to appear normal to everyone, but Draco still noticed. And he cares, he fucking cares and Harry doesn’t know how to deal with that. In some ways it makes a warm bubble of – well something good, appear in his chest. In other ways it clouds his mind with anxiety. Draco knows too much, and he cares too much. And when people care they start expecting things. They expect to be trusted, to be allowed to help. Harry doesn’t want help. He doesn’t deserve it. 

“It sounds like you spend a lot of time watching me.” He says jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. To change the subject, make Draco uncomfortable. it doesn’t really matter as long as this tension in the air lifts. 

“Yeah, well it’s like I wrote isn’t it. I rather enjoy watching you.” Draco says, a blush creeping up in his cheeks. Something makes Harry lift the hand that’s not entwined with Draco’s to touch the other boy’s cheek, trying to see if it feels as warm as it looks. It is, and Harry quickly drops his hand.

“Well, why don’t you try spending more time looking at my arse instead of my mental health. You don’t have to worry about me.” Harry says, he means it to be an insult of sorts, but it doesn’t come out quite right.

“Oh, trust me.” Draco says. “I spend lots of time staring at your arse too, no worries.”

Now it’s Harry’s time to blush. He doesn’t want Draco to see, so he hides his face in the other boy’s neck. He hadn’t really thought Draco would be staring at his arse, why would he? It’s not like his arse is anything special. 

Seeming to sense Harry’s discomfort Draco brings the subject back to his muggle studies homework. Apparently he has to write a paper on how ‘phone boxes’ could be useful in wizard society. Somewhere in the middle of helping him, Harry falls asleep on Draco’s shoulder. Exhausted by all the day’s emotional talk. 

Morning arrives a lot faster than Harry had hoped. He wakes up feeling, not great, but not like he wishes he’d never have to do so either. Talking and writing with Draco had helped a lot more than Harry thought. Just getting some of the thoughts and worries out really had helped, just like Draco had said. As he lies in bed Harry realises part of him wants to tell Draco all about his mental shit, even the cutting. Another part of him though, would sooner be eaten by the giant squid than as much as hinting at it. 

When the alarm rings a few minutes after Harry wakes up, he finds it easier to get out of bed than it’s been in weeks. Even with the detention looming over his head. Even though Harry feels almost happy, he doesn’t skip the part of his mourning routine that involves locking himself in one of the toilet stalls in the bathroom he shares with Draco to cut. For the first time since he stared Hogwarts he finds himself feeling afraid of what he’s doing. He thought the cutting was just a way to get through the day. To not feel so shitty he wants to die. But here he is, feeling ok, and still cutting. He considers stopping for today, and realises he doesn’t want to. He probably doesn’t even really need to cut now, because he doesn’t feel like crap. The problem is that he wants to cut. Harry doesn’t understand the feeling. The closest comparison he has is the feeling of wanting one more serving of dinner even though you’re full. 

He cuts until he forgets feeling guilty about cutting, and realises he’ll have to choose between eating breakfast or having a shower before seeing Lupin. He decides to go for the shower, there are no people in the shower. No chance of running into Lupin a second before he has to be at the professor’s office.

‘Oh bloody marvellous’ Harry thinks when he steps right into the trick step on the staircase on his way to detention. Speaking the word bloody, Ron's trademark, reminds him that he should probably owl Ron and Hermione. he doesn’t really know how to balance his need to distance himself from his friends. The most important part is not hurting his friends, but somehow being with them hurts them, and staying away too long does the same thing. Harry’s so lost in thoughts that he almost passes Lupin’s office. He has to turn back around to face the door, he looks at it for a while, wanting to be anywhere else. When the watch on his wrist ticks the last remaining seconds to his detention starts Harry knocks. 

"Come in," Lupin calls.

Harry opens the door and enters Lupin's study. It looks much like it had done in Harry's third year, except Lupin now has a few more things, and they look nicer too. Harry supposes Lupin isn’t as a poor as he used to be.

"Harry, I'm glad you came to see me. I apologise for not coming to see you after you woke up. I could blame it on the fact that I had a lot to do before the school year started, but I won't. The truth is, I was scared. Am scared. Scared that you blame me for Sirius dying. That you are angry for me stopping you going after Bellatrix. I'm sorry Harry, I was a coward."

Harry can’t find any words to speak. Lupin blames himself for Sirius dying?

“When you so clearly avoided me this year I feared I was right in my assumption that you blame me. I’m sorry I had to call you here for a detention, but it was the only way I could get you alone to talk. I really am sorry Harry.”

Harry just shakes his head. It’s Harry's fault that Sirius died, everyone knows that. If he hadn't let Voldemort fool him nobody would have been in the mystery department at all. Harry feels horrible, guilt washes through him and he can barely keep his feet straight underneath his weight. He desperately needs to cut again, but he knew he can’t. Suddenly he’s glad he cut that morning. At least he can press a hand to the fresh cuts on his wrist to take the edge of his emotions.

"I don't blame you for anything Professor, I'm glad to see you." Harry tries to sound glad, but he doesn’t think he gets it right. “Besides, if it’s anyone’s fault that he died it’s mine. I was the one who dragged everyone there. I’m the one who fell for Voldemort’s tricks.” 

"It’s not your fault Harry, and I suppose logically it isn’t mine either. Sirius chose to go, even though Dumbledore had told him not to. Bellatrix is the one who killed him, and Voldemort was the one to make sure he went there in the first place.” Lupin says. 

“Yeah maybe, thanks professor.” Harry says. 

“Call me Remus in private please Harry. I realise you have lost your father and your godfather, and if you want to, I would like to think of us as family. Your father, Sirius and I always felt like brothers, so that would make me your uncle. Well, sort of your uncle."

Harry smiles at the professor, Remus really thought himself Harry's uncle? Who would want to be his family? The only family Harry ever knew where the Dursleys, and they wanted nothing more than to NOT be Harry's family.

"Harry, are you ok? You look kinda out of it, and I noticed that you had trouble with your patronus in class." Lupin says.

This is the problem with real family, Harry thinks, they care. They actually notice when something’s wrong, and then they try to find out what. What should Harry tell him, that all his good memories are ruined? That it’s like he has someone whispering insecurities in his ear and making him find proof in every memory he has that people actually hate him or he doesn’t deserve them? Harry can’t tell Remus that.

"I don't know why I couldn't get it to work, maybe something happened in my coma or something." Harry says, hoping Lupin will accept the explanation.

Lupin simply nods, walking over to a chest Harry hadn’t noticed before. 

"Would you like to practise it? I spent last lesson looking for a boggart for the third years to practise on, but you could use it to practise the patronus charm now." Lupin says, gesturing to the chest.

Harry doesn’t want to, he knows he won’t be able to do it. After his failure in the first class of the semester he’s tried several times, but he can’t even get as much as a whisk of smoke out of his wand. He knows it will seem suspicious if he doesn’t want help practicing though. 

"Sure, that would be great." Harry says, drawing his wand.

"Ready?" Lupin asks.

Harry nods and watches as Lupin opens the chest. But the form that comes out isn’t a dementor. At first Harry doesn’t really see what it is, but he quikly realises the boggart is taking a human shape. Seconds later, an exact replica of Harry stands in front of him. For a few seconds both Harry and Remus looks confused between each other and the boggart-Harry. Then boggart-Harry starts rolling up his sleeves, and Harry panics. He knows what will be underneath the sweater he’s wearing. And there is no question the same cuts and scars will be on the boggart. Harry desperately tries to think of something, anything to make his boggart funny. But there isn’t anything amusing about the way angry cuts are being slowly reviled. Some of which are still bleeding a little, just like Harry knows his own are beneath his sweater. 

His bogart has changed, it’s Harry showing people how pathetic he really is. And Lupin is here to see it.


	8. Sight for sore eyes

Harry stares at the boggart version of himself as he finishes rolling up the sleeves of the sweater they’re both wearing. As if to make clear how the wounds got there the boggart-Harry reaches a hand into his pocket and gets out a razorblade. Harry notices there are bloodstains on the thighs of his boggart’s jeans now too. As if to show off the fact that there are cuts there as well.

When the boggart swiftly drags the razorblade across it’s wrist Lupin steps in front of Harry. Just like in third year the image of a moon appears, and Lupin mutters ridiculous to turn it to a cheese that rolls back into the chest. 

Harry can’t move. More than anything he wants to run away before Lupin can do as much as turn back around. But his feet won’t listen. Neither will his lungs apparently, because Harry can’t seem to make them function right. 

"Harry, can you show me your arms please." Lupin says calmly.

"There is nothing to see." Harry says. Forcing his lungs and throat to work. He ignores the thundering sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, and locks eyes with Lupin. He has to convince the man he’s fine.

"Nothing to see that I haven't already seen on the Bogart, or nothing to see?" Lupin asks.

Harry doesn’t know what to say, Lupin is talking like he already knows the answer. Harry wishes he’d put on the concealer. Or that he hadn’t cut his arm in a while, so he could just show Lupin his bare arm with a tattoo. But the concealer doesn’t work on open cuts, and since it’s been so cold lately Harry had figured no one would react if he wore long sleeves all the time. Cursing himself for his stupidity Harry desperately searches his mind for an answer.

"I'm going to take your silence to mean the first option.” Lupin says. “Don't worry Harry, I'm not going to yell, or demand that you stop. I’m not mad, or disappointed.”

“You’re not?” Harry asks before he can stop himself.

“No. You’re not the first person I’ve known who does this. It took me a while to understand it, James had to explain it to me actually. I think I get it now though. So I’m not mad, of course I’m not.”  
“My dad?” Harry askes, scared to hope that his father would have understood if he was still alive.

“Yeah. When Sirius ran away from home and moved in with your dad, we found out he’d been cutting for a while. He always put up a brave front, but it was hard for him. His family really hated him for being who he was, and as much as he tried to hide it, he did too. Then he was mad at himself for hating being a ‘bisexual gryffindor muggle lover’ as he called it, because those where things he wanted to fight for being accepted.”

Harry imagines he looks something like a confused fish with the way his mouth is opening and closing, unable to decide what to ask first.

“Sirius was bi? And he self-harmed? And, I.. What?” He finally stammers.

“Hmm, well I think he decided pansexual fit him better. He just enjoyed people, just for being who they were. And yes, he did self-harm. My initial reaction was getting angry. I was so worried, and I didn’t understand. Then Sirius got mad too, because he couldn’t stop, and he didn’t take well to me trying to force him. Your dad had to talk some sense into me.” Lupin says, looking wistful at the memory.

“My dad, he.. He understood?” Harry asks, a weird feeling of something like peace and incredible sadness churning in his stomach.

“He did. I know your dad is often described as being brave, popular and cocky.” Lupin says, smiling. “And he was, but he also had an incredible understanding of other people. He understood that to Sirius, self-harming was about surviving. That he didn’t mean to start it, and he certainly hadn’t meant to get so addicted to it, but he had. He wanted to help Sirius stop of course, but he told me that we couldn’t just take away the only means our friend had to survive, and expect him to cope without it.”

So his dad really had understood. And Sirius would have too. A weight of a feeling that makes Harry’s blood rush, his limbs feel heavy and his eyes water envelopes him. Harry doesn’t know how to name the feelings, he1s never been good at recognizing what he’s feeling. He imagines it’s something like bitterness, grief and guilt at realising he could have had people in his life to really love and understand him, but that he got them killed. 

“Did Sirius ever stop?” Harry asks, not sure what he wants the answer to be. 

“He did.” Lupin says. “But it didn’t happen overnight. It was a gradual thing, like he needed it less and less, until he could go without it for a year without relapsing. Then two years, and so on.”

Lupin seems to hesitate before he continues. “He started again after Azkaban though. He never spoke to me about it after he was released, but I saw the cuts, burns and scars sometimes. I thought..” Lupin’s voice breaks, and his eyes glistens as he speaks “I thought we would have more time, I thought I could talk to him about it after the war. I didn’t..”

“I never noticed.” Harry says.

“You wouldn’t have. He made a tremendous effort to be all right when you were there, and I think a lot of the time he really was.”

“I miss him.” Harry says, looking at his hands. 

“I do too, I like to think he’s off somewhere with James though, making hell for everyone. I think of him as happy, smiling. The way he was with you, and before James and Lilly died. And I know that he loved you so much, just like your parents did. None of them would judge you for this.” Lupin says, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder to enforce the words. 

“I don’t think they’d like me very much if they knew me.” Harry says.

Lupin guides him to a chair, and Harry gratefully sits down. It’s not even lunch and he’s already exhausted by the day.

“They would Harry, I know they would. They wouldn’t judge you for struggling, or for self-harming. They would be worried, of course, but only because they love you. And I know that I genuinely like you Harry, not for being the boy who lived, and not because I knew your parents. I like your sense of humour, I like that you can get really passionate about things. I like that you’re such a complex person that you can fit both in slytherin and gryffindor. Your parent’s would too.” Lupin says, sitting down in a chair next to Harry.

“Even if I’m just a depressed slytherin?” Harry asks, and then before he can back out he whispers “Even if I’m gay?”

“Yes. And not despite it, because of it. Being gay and slytherin is part of who you are. And they would love you for it, just like I do.” Lupin says.

His words make something shift in Harry. He hadn’t realised how sure he’d been that his parents would dislike him for being gay, for being slytherin. How he’d convinced himself that they wouldn’t understand his depression, and definitely not the cutting. But here Remus was telling him something different. 

“Harry, I want you to know that you are not alone, and I hope you will try to recover. Have you considered getting professional help? Poppy has a floo that directs to st. Mungos, and they have several good mind healers. They can help you.” Remus says.

“NO” Harry almost shouts before he can even consider. He can’t. He doesn’t even know why, but the thought makes anxiety and guilt knock him to the floor. 

“Allright, I don't want to force you into getting help you don't want. The only thing I will ask you is that you are careful. If I find out you have been cutting too deep I'll have to get you some help. I'm here for you Harry, you can talk to me whenever you want, and if you ever want professional help I will gladly find someone for you. Like I said Harry, I consider us family, and I love you." Lupin says.

"Thank you Remus, I don't really know what to say." Harry says.

Remus smiles a little. "It's ok Harry, I understand that words get hard sometimes. Now, I have to ask. How do you feel about using healing charms on your cuts?"

Harry shakes his head. He doesn’t want to do that, he needs the cuts. He needs the pain to last, not just heal instantly. He feels like he should probably reassure Remus though.

"I know healing charms, and I promise to use them if things ever, uhm, go to far. I don't intend to kill myself." Harry says. And it’s technically true, he doesn’t intend to kill himself, he just wants to. 

"If I teach you a disinfection charm, can you promise me to use it? Infection is really bad." Remus asks.

“Yeah, ok. I’ll do that.” Harry says, he doesn’t see the harm in disinfecting and he’ll do what he can to help Remus feel better about this. 

Remus shows Harry two different disinfection charms, then goes to his cabinet to collect some bandages. 

“I always keep some on hand, being a werewolf kinda requires it. If you need help or medical supplies, you can always come here if you don’t feel comfortable going to the hospital wing.” 

“Thank you” Harry says, stuffing the bandages into his bag. He hasn’t shown Remus his arms, and he doesn’t intend to. Even though the older man did already see the cuts on the boggart. 

“Does Draco know? Or Ron and Hermione?” Remus asks. 

Harry shakes his head.

“I think you could tell them. Ron might overreact a bit at first if I know him right, but they would all understand eventually. It looks like you and Draco are getting closer, so maybe telling him could be a first step?” 

“Yeah, maybe.” Harry says, knowing he has no intention to do anything of the sort. One person knowing is one too many. 

"Harry, I will give you some time to prepare to see a mind healer, however I won't wait forever. You need help, but I know you won't benefit from being forced to get it at this time. If I don't see you improving, or approaching anyone for help I will have to do something. I hope you don't feel like this is me betraying you. I'm doing this because I care." Remus says.

Harry does feel betrayed, and angry. Remus had just told him that he wouldn't force him into anything, and here he was saying something different. Harry’s scared to argue though. If he protests too much that might make Remus tell someone too. 

"I'll try." He says, “I’m going to go now. It’s almost lunchtime and I skipped breakfast.

“All right Harry. I’ll talk to you another time then, please take care.” Remus says, dragging Harry into a hug before letting him leave.

Harry leaves the office and goes in search of an empty classroom to gather his thoughts before lunch. He finds one in the dungeons, not far from his common room. 

How is he even supposed to feel after that detention? Harry supposes he should feel relieved that someone knows and wants to help, and maybe he is. Maybe he’s grieving over lost people, or maybe he’s happy that they would have loved him. Maybe he’s mad that Remus found out. Maybe he’s scared of what the professor will do now that he knows. Maybe he feels guilty for making the professor worry. All Harry knows is that there is a whirlwind of emotions blowing through his body, and he’s unable to really tell them apart. He’s not able to calm them down either, so he reaches for his bag to pull out the only thing he knows will help. 

***

Harry’s able to avoid speaking to Remus for the rest of November. The fact that he and Draco has started apparition training with the sixth years also help, because it keeps him busy most Saturdays, and he can tell the professor he has to do homework on Sundays and weekends. He knows Remus won’t wait forever though, but putting off the problem for as long as possible is the only solution he’s been able to come up with. 

The problem he can’t escape is Draco’s weird behaviour recently. It’s almost like he’s trying to tell Harry something, but then he’ll just change his mind and say something random. The suspense is driving Harry insane, what if Draco knows about his cutting as well, but is too scared to say anything?

Harry is currently sitting with Draco on the couch in their room, they’re supposed to be doing homework, but Draco is doing the weird thing again. He looks up from his book, looks over at Harry, opens his mouth, closes it and goes back to reading. Harry can’t focus. 

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“We really do need to have your prescription checked Harry, when was the last time someone took a look at those eyes of yours? I’m sitting right next to you studying.” Draco says, smirking.

“I’ve never had them checked, I found these glasses in the Dursley’s attic and I kept them because they helped me see better.” Harry says. “But that’s not what I mean, I’m asking why you keep looking up at me like that. Like you’re going to say something.”

“You’ve never had your eyes checked?” Draco asks with a shocked expression. “Those glasses are probably all wrong for you then! Come on, let’s go.”

“What?” Harry says, wondering how the conversation turned to his glasses.

“We’re going to Hogsmeade.” Draco says. “There is no way I’m letting you walk around another day with glasses that doesn’t fit you right.”

“Draco, I can see perfectly fine. I don’t need my eyes checked.” Harry says.

“Well I don’t believe you. Those glasses are muggle, so they probably don’t adjust based on where you’re looking. And they weren’t even fitted to you!” Draco says, getting his coat out of his trunk. “Get dressed, we’re going.”

Harry doesn’t see the point in arguing. When Draco decides he wants something, he usually gets his way in the end anyways. Harry’s decided to pick his battles.

“Fine, but only if we can get butterbeer. It’s bloody cold outside now.” He says.

“Sure, whatever. Oh this will be perfect; we can get you some new frames as well. The ones you have look like they’ve been through hell and back.” Draco says. “Of course, knowing you, they probably have.”

The second they step outside Harry decides he was right, it **is** bloody cold. He wraps his new slytherin scarf more tightly around his neck and chin, then puts his cold hands in his pockets.

“I should probably get some gloves as well; my hands are freezing.” He says.

“You don’t have gloves? Why didn’t you say so, you could have borrowed some from me you know.” Draco says, then he stops to take his wand out and touches it to one of his own mittens. It suddenly grows to twice its size. “Here, place your hand in with mine. At least one of your hands won’t freeze off.”

Harry suddenly feels awkward, but he puts his frozen fingers into the mitten with Draco’s, intertwining their finger so they’ll both fit. 

“Thanks” says Harry, feeling his cheeks heat with a blush. Holding Draco’s hand feels nice, and not just because of the heat. Harry doesn’t really know why though, so he decides not to think about it too much. He looks around him for something else to think about, studying the falling snow. He realises it’s December now, so Christmas holidays are just a few weeks away. He remembers his promise to try out a phone call with Draco over the break, when he suddenly wonders where Draco will be staying. He’d assumed the other boy would go back to Malfoy manor, but Draco won’t be able to now that he’s been disowned.

“Where will you stay for Christmas holidays? You spent your money renting a room before Hogwarts started right?” Harry asks, wondering if the question might be a bit insensitive. 

“Yeah, I did. I was thinking I’ll probably stay at Hogwarts. There will be a bed and food at least, even though the company isn’t much to brag about.” Draco answers, and Harry thinks he can see traces of sadness behind the smile Draco pastes on. 

“I have a flat!” Harry says.

“Yes Harry, I know. Thank you for rubbing it in though.” Draco says impatiently.

“No, I mean you could come stay with me. I don’t really have plans for Christmas either.”

“I don’t want to impose on you, Hogwarts is perfectly fine. I know you’ve stayed there for Christmas a few times.” Draco says.

Harry squeezes the hand he’s holding inside the shared mitten, trying to channel some sort of reassurance. 

“You wouldn’t be imposing; you’d be keeping me company. Besides, I’ve gotten used to your constant company, what would I do without your snarky comments in the morning.” Harry says, stroking his thumb against the back of Draco’s hand. 

“Hmm” Draco says. “It would make trying out the telebox easier. And I suppose if you’ll be lonely without me..”

“Telephone” Harry injects. 

“Yes, yes, telepole.” Draco says. “All right, I suppose I could come stay with you.”

Harry grins at the other boy, and is pleased when he receives a grin in return. He doesn’t really know when his plan went from ‘being alone revelling in just being depressed’ to being alone except one phone-call to Draco’ to ‘celebrating the holidays with a Draco’. He doesn’t know when he started wanting the latter option more than the first either, but he supposes it doesn’t really matter much. Both he and Draco will have a better Christmas this way, and that’s what matters, really. 

When they make it to the store named ‘sight for sore eyes’ Harry removes his hand from Draco’s mitten. He suddenly feels unbalanced, and he’s not entirely sure it’s just because one of his hands is freezing when the other one is toasty warm. 

“Well hello, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” says a voice from the back of the store, when Harry squints a bit he can see a handsome looking salesman heading their way.

When he reaches them both he leans in to whisper in Draco’s ear. “I’m so terribly sorry for that awful greeting, my boss requires it you see. However..” the salesman says, running his eyes up and down Draco’s form “you definitely aren’t hard on the eyes.”

Harry feels immediately enraged. The salesman has no business being that close to Draco, so he steps in between them. “When you’re done ogling my friend, would you mind terribly doing your job and help me find glasses to suit my eyesight? Or should I perhaps take my business elsewhere?” Harry says, casually-on-purpose running his hand through his hair to reveal his scar.

He’s never deliberately used his fame status on someone before, but something about this salesman rubs him the wrong way entirely. The scar has it’s wanted effect though, turning the full attention of the salesman on him. 

“Yes of course Mr. Potter. If you’ll allow me to run a few spells over your eyes I’ll know your prescription in a jiffy.” The salesman says, taking out his wand and casting the spells when Harry nods. 

“Ah, yes. I understand the need for new glasses. The ones you have now are all wrong. Would you like new ones entirely, or just for me to charm the ones you have already?” The salesman asks. 

Harry looks at Draco now, because he really doesn’t know if he should get new glasses or not. Draco is the one who knows style, he hopes. 

“You should get some new ones I think.” Says Draco, stepping around Harry to look at the rows and rows of glasses in the store. “The ones you have are all right, but they look pretty beaten up.” 

“Oh, Mr. Potter would look wonderful in these don’t you agree?” The salesman asks Draco, gesturing to a pair of square looking glasses. 

“I don’t think we should step too far from the round shape. I rather like the way he looks with those.” Draco says, picking up a pair of glasses. “I think these will be perfect. If you could adjust them, we’ll be ready to go.”

“Ah, yes, the pantos glasses. Excellent choice!” The salesman says, running off to the back. Presumably to fit the glasses to Harry’s need.

Harry considers being mad about not being consulted about the glasses he’s going to wear, but something in him tells him to trust Draco. And he’s already admitted he has no clue what he’s doing. 

“What’s wrong?” Draco asks, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Nothing” Harry says automatically.

“Right, you just have a habit of acting like that around salesmen do you?”

“No, I just, I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.” Harry says.

“I see, is it because we’re both male? I thought you were past that.” Draco says.

“No, that’s not it. It’s just, it wasn’t. I don’t know, ok? It just made me feel weird.” Harry says, feeling agitated. Why had he reacted like he had?

“So you’re just making sure I never get laid?” Draco says, smiling. 

“You wanted to..” Harry blanches “with him?!”

“Not particularly, no” Draco says, and Harry releases a breath. “It’s always nice to be flirted with though. Does wonders for my self-esteem you know. Of course, so does your over-protective and jealous behaviour. So I’m sure I’ll survive.”

Had Harry really been jealous? He’d just been angry hadn’t he? But then again he couldn’t explain why he’d been angry. He tries imagining the salesman and Draco out on a date, kissing and holding hands and the anger flares up inside him again. So maybe he is jealous. But what does that mean? He’s not in love with Draco, they’re just friends. And OK, Harry’s attracted to the other boy, but really, who wouldn’t be?

“Here are your glasses Mr. Potter. Would you like to try them on?” The salesman says, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. 

“Yes, thank you” Harry says, taking the glasses. They are still round, like Draco said. But they are a bit thicker at the top, Harry supposes they are more stylish that way. He puts them on, and suddenly he can _see_. It’s not like he hasn’t been able to before, but suddenly he can see so much more, when he looks at Draco he can see the other boys eyelashes. And the faded, almost invisible freckles he has. He can see each individual snowflake falling outside the window. He can hear the salesman going on about how he’s added water and cold protection, so they won’t get wet or fogged up. 

“And of course I’ve added the spell to make them change depending on what you’re looking at. I think you’ll find reading a lot easier now.” The salesman finishes.

“I can see.” Harry says, grinning at Draco. 

“Yes, that would rather be the point of glasses” Draco says, smirking.

“I know that!” Says Harry. “But I can really see, like I can see your eyelashes. And you have freckles! And does snow really look like that?” He asks, pointing at the window.

“I most certainly do not have freckles” Draco protests, “And like what? Individual pieces instead of a blur? Yeah, it does.”

“Ah, but you do have freckles” Harry says, grinning. “I can see them now. They’re really faint, but they’re definitely there. They’re really cute too.”

“What is your obsession with calling me cute? I am not cute. I am handsome” Draco says, blushing. 

“Well that too” Harry agrees, definitely not blushing himself. 

“Come on” Draco says, apparently opting to ignore the comment. “Pay the man, so we can go have that butterbeer you promised me.”

Harry gladly pays the salesman, glad to see that he’s not all that handsome now that Harry can see him properly. 

“So how do I look?” Harry asks Draco when they’re walking towards the three broomsticks. 

“Like you always do I suppose, except with better glasses” Draco says, avoiding Harry’s eyes. Intrigued Harry feels the need to dig deeper.

“And how do I normally look then?”

“Well if you must know you look freshly shagged. And not even in a bad way you absolute wanker.” Draco says, still avoiding Harry’s eyes. 

Harry’s stunned. Draco thinks he looks.. good? The thought pleases Harry more than it knows he should. If he thinks Draco is handsome, and he want’s Draco to think he looks good, and he’s jealous when someone flirts with him, does that mean Harry likes the other boy. 

“Fuck” he mutters, realisation hitting him hard. 

“What?” Draco asks.

“Nothing” says Harry, walking a little faster. He fucking likes Draco Malfoy. As in like-like. His first thought is that he can’t do that. He can’t have feelings for the other boy because nothing will ever come of it. Draco would never want to be with him, and even if he did.. Even if he did, Draco deserves better. Harry knows that. He knows that with his depression, and his self-harm, and just being himself, he’ll never be good enough for Draco. He couldn’t be a good boyfriend to anyone really. And Draco deserves the best. 

Knowing that Harry shoves the thoughts and sudden feelings down as far as they’ll go, figuring he’ll find some way to deal with them later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments I've gotten so far! I really appreciate them, and they motivate me so much to keep writing. Please keep pointing out any errors I might have made with spelling and such, or just your general thoughts on the story.


	9. Dilemmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so warning for pretty graphic cutting in this chapter i guess. I don't know why but I had a lot of trouble writing this chapter, sorry it's so late.

As it turns out, Harry isn’t able to shove his thoughts of Draco out of his head. It seems that now that he knows he _knows_ , and nothing he does can get the thoughts and feelings out of his head. 

How is it even possible to fall for someone when you’re too depressed to think straight? Harry wonders, turning over in bed and angrily hitting his pillow. He feels like crap all the time, he hasn’t spoken to his best friends in moths, he cuts himself daily, he’s avoiding the only person in the world who wants to be his family, and what his brilliant brain decides to do is go on and fall in love. 

The worst part is that it’s not like he thinks about it all the time. His body just seems to act on its own accord. When he sits next to Draco he finds himself sliding closer, or reaching for his hand. And it feels so natural. Harry wonders how long he’s been inching closer and closer to Draco without even noticing. Then he thinks that he doesn’t have time to wonder, or think. He has to sleep. It’s the last week before Christmas, and their teachers have apparently decided this is a wonderful week to test if they have learned what they should during the first semester. Harry hasn’t, or at least it doesn’t feel like he has. 

When he’s not lost in thoughts, or cutting to help himself focus, he’s desperately trying to do as much studying and homework as possible. But if he’s going to be able to focus, he needs sleep. Sleep apparently, doesn’t want to come to him though. He looks over at his bedside table, and instantly feels guilty. Inside are several letters from Ron and Hermione. They haven’t stopped writing him all semester, even though he hasn’t given them any real responses. He hasn’t even managed to bring himself to read the letters from the past couple of months.

It’s just easier to not write them at all than it is to lie. He knows he could write them, tell them all about the depression. He could tell them about Draco, and his worries that Remus will tell someone soon if Harry doesn’t. He’s even realised that they would probably understand, or at least make an effort to. But Harry just can’t bring himself to do it. He doesn’t even know why anymore. His reasons for not writing his friends has changed so much in his own head. He knows he doesn’t want to hurt or worry them, and that’s been his excuse for keeping his distance. But he also knows that shutting them out is doing exactly that. 

Harry thinks about dying, how it would be so easy, but also so hard. It’s tempting, it has been since the graveyard when Voldemort came back if he’s honest with himself. But it also scares him. He’s scared of failing again, he’s scared of succeeding. Scared of what he’ll miss, and who will miss him. Scared of how it will affect everyone. Hell, he’s even scared that it will hurt. But how is he supposed to do anything, to live or die, when both options scare the shit out of him. He knows he’ll have to choose eventually. Knows he can’t just keep living in limbo, pushing everyone away and refusing to even try recovery. 

Harry’s realised it’s not that simple either though. As hard as the choice is, it’s not a one-time thing. If he chooses to really live, to recover, that is a choice he’ll have to make every single day until the suicidal urges disappear. He will have to choose recovery despite his depression telling him to stay depressed. And Harry is too tired, to exhausted of just staying alive that there is no energy left to fight. 

Harry realises there is no way he’ll be able to sleep when his mind is like this, so he reaches for the bedside table, opening one of the drawers there and taking out his blades and some toilet paper. He pulls down his pyjama bottoms, deciding to cut his thighs. 

He makes a cut, but it's pathetic. So he makes another, and another. The third one is better, but he doesn't feel like stopping just yet. So he makes three more. The sixth one is the best of the lot, and he considers stopping. Six just seems wrong though, and he wants more cuts like the last one, so he makes another. Seven cuts don’t seem quite right either, so he decides he'll go for nine. The eight cut is perfect, it's straight and deep enough that it's gaping slightly. Harry places the blade to his skin, holding a piece of paper over the previous cuts so blood doesn't get everywhere. He prepares to make the final cut, takes a breath, then another. He needs four breaths before he's able to move the blade, internally screaming at himself for being weak. 

When he finally makes the cut though, his hand wavers at the last second and he completely fails. The cut is jagged and shallow. Harry doesn't know if he wants to throw the blade away or stab himself with it. He decided on nine, but then he failed. And ten just feels wrong. And it's not going to fix how he fucked up in the first place anyways. In the end he doesn't throw the blade away, or stab himself with it. Instead he grips it tightly and curls into a ball on his bed. He doesn't feel any better, for the first time cutting didn't help. He doesn't feel like cutting more though, so he's just trapped in whatever this horrible feeling is supposed to be. He doesn't know how long he stays like that, but he eventually falls asleep. 

***

“Harry, Harry! Come on!” Draco’s voice breaks through the mist surrounding Harry’s brain.

“What?” He asks, looking at the other boy.

“The lesson is over” Draco says, gesturing to the empty classroom around them.

“Oh” says Harry, “I didn’t notice”. 

“I know. Did you even register what lesson we were having?” Draco asks, a look of concern on his face. 

“Uhm, yeah. But I don’t really know how it went. I just zoned out I guess. Sorry” Harry says, trying to seem indifferent. He’s not though. This was the last transfiguration lesson before their test, and he really needed to pay attention. 

“I thought you said you were behind in transfiguration” Draco says, looking mildly annoyed now. 

“I am! I don’t know what you want from me here Draco. I lost focus, how does that even affect you?” Harry asks. He notices the anger behind his words as he says them, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“It doesn’t! It affects you, and for some masochistic reason I bloody care about you!” Draco says.

“Well, don’t!” Harry yells, frustrated. 

“Don’t what?” Draco asks, looking both angry and confused. 

“Don’t care about me! I don’t want it and I don’t need it. My life is plenty shit without worrying about how MY mental health affects you every goddamn minute. I don’t know what gave you the idea that your ‘care’ is even welcome, what do you hope to achieve? Do you want to heal me?” Harry asks, mocking now. “You can’t heal me, I don’t want to be healed.”

“But I do care, and you’re going to have to deal with that aren’t you? And what are you even talking about you don’t want to be healed? Do you want to keep on living like this then? Is that it?” Draco says.

“No!” Says Harry. “That’s the whole damn point. I don’t want to keep living at all. I just want to be left alone so I can end things in peace. But then you come along and you just walk around as a constant reminder that I have something to live for. And I don’t want to be reminded, I’m so tired.”

“What, so you want to die?” Draco asks, looking more worried than angry now. 

“No.” Harry says, realising it’s true as he says it. “No I don’t want to fucking die either. Happy? I don’t want to live and I don’t want to die. I have no idea what I want, all right? All I know is I’m so tired I feel like I could sleep for a thousand years and still wake up tired. And I’m so angry, all the time. I’m yelling at you right now and I know you don’t deserve it, and that I’ll feel like shit for it later. But I can’t fucking help myself.”

“It’s ok to be angry though, you have lots of reasons to.” Draco says.

“No I fucking don’t. I tried so hard, so fucking hard to do the right thing. I wanted to save Sirius, but I just couldn’t fucking trust the adults and he ended up dead. If I had only trusted Dumbledore, if I’d just accepted that I shouldn’t know all the things I wanted to know Sirius would be alive today. Do you know that I see Dumbledore every single day up at that head table, and he still hasn’t spoken to me since I woke up from the coma? He blames me, I know he does. And rightly so. And despite all that, I’m still mad at him for how he treated me. I’m so fucking furious he sent me to the Dursleys to be starved and verbally assaulted for my entire life. I’m so angry he wouldn’t tell me things, because part of me still feels like I deserved to know. He put me and my friends in some really fucking dangerous situations, hell we fought Voldemort when we were eleven. I’m so mad at him, and sometimes I think I might hate him.” Harry says, now pacing the room, trying to calm his anger down. He doesn’t know where all the words comes from, but as he’s speaking them he realises that it’s all true. 

“Ok Harry, so I’m going to voice an unpopular opinion here. I hate Dumbledore. Not for the same reasons I did when I was a kid, but because of the man he is. He is manipulative and irresponsible. We both know he had enough say in the ministry to get Sirius off when it turned out he was innocent, but he didn’t. He chose to place you in an abusive home, and he never removed you from it. After the horrible experience you had in fourth year he sent you back to that abusive home, telling your friends and family not to talk to you. And like you said, he’s been placing you and your friends in danger since the day you entered the magical world. You didn’t deserve that Harry.” Draco says, trying to reach out for Harry, but Harry steps away from the outreached hand.

“But I did deserve it, that’s the problem. I have no reason to be mad because I never deserved any better than what I got. And besides, it was all to save the whole wizarding world. I think my safety is worth the sacrifice. I hate myself for being so angry, and that means I’m angry with myself too.” Harry says, sitting down on the floor. The confession having drawn all the anger from him. 

He can feel tears pushing to be released, but he holds them back. He’s already yelled at Draco over nothing, he’s not going to make the other boy watch him cry too. 

“So you feel like you deserve this, is that it? You don’t want to live because it’s painful and you’re tired, you don’t want to die because that would hurt people and be a final end to a temporary solution, and you don’t want to recover because you don’t deserve to be happy?” Draco asks, sitting down on the floor next to Harry. “And you’re pushing me away because you think you’ll always be like this, and you don’t want to hurt me? Or because I make you want to be better, and that scares the shit out of you?”

Harry just stares at Draco in shock. How was it even possible, that him failing to pay attention in class could lead to him spilling his guts about problems he hadn’t even realised he had, and then Draco putting words to something he could never have understood himself?

“I, yeah, pretty much all that stuff. How? How do you even know that? I didn’t even know that before you just said it?” Harry asks.

“I know you Harry, I know we’ve only been friends for half a year, but I’ve watched you since we were eleven. And like I’ve said, I’ve been depressed too. I guess that gives some insight.” Draco says, reaching out again and this time succeeding in placing his hand on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Professor Lupin knows doesn’t he?” Draco asks. Harry’s panicked for a second that Draco knows about his cuts too, but he figures the other boy is referring to his depression. 

“Why?” he says, hoping Draco will elaborate.

“You’ve been avoiding him like he’s got spattergroit ever since your detention. I just figured he knew about something you really don’t want to talk to him about.” Draco says.

“Yeah, he knows. He insists on getting me professional help or something.” Harry says, looking at his hands.

“It might not be the worst idea you know? I’ll come with you if it helps.” 

Harry doesn’t know what to do. He knows he should, knows part of him even wants to. He also knows he’s scared. Scared that the therapist will tell him his problems are nothing and he needs to get himself together. Scared the therapist will take him to seriously and have him admitted. Scared to admit he has a problem, accept that he needs help, and find a way to feel like he deserves the help. 

“I don’t know.” He says, because he really doesn’t.

“Ok, so here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to talk to professor Lupin to have an appointment set up. Then I’m going to come with you to that appointment. We’ll both go, and if you hate it you don’t have to go back. I think the fact that you said ‘I don’t know’ instead of an instant no means it’s time. You’ll never feel ready to see a therapist, I think that’s something you just have to do.” Draco says, taking the hand Harry’s been staring at.

“Ok” Harry says, surprised that he’s able to speak at all. Somehow Draco has understood that Harry’s unable to say yes, even though part of him wants to. So he’s taken the matters into his own hands. If it were anyone else, Harry thinks, he would be furious. When it’s Draco though, he just feels safe. 

They stay in the empty transfiguration classroom through lunch, and Harry is grateful that Draco seems to understand his need to be away from the rest of the school. Their next lesson is defence, and Harry figures that’s just karma or something. When you avoid someone you’re doomed to run into them when you least want to. At least Remus can’t talk to him in class, but that won’t stop Draco from talking to the professor as soon as class is over.

Harry dreads the fact that two people who both know parts of his mental health issues will be speaking to each other. In fact, he’s so caught up in dreading it that he walks face first into someone when he and Draco are walking to their next class. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He says, before looking straight up into the face of Remus. Harry just gapes, because really, what are the fucking odds.

“I have to go, I, erh, need the bathroom.” He says, running off towards the nearest bathroom and leaving Draco and Remus behind. Safely locked inside the bathroom stall he wants to hit himself.

He just left Draco and Remus alone. Draco intends to ask Remus to get him a therapist. Remus will do that. Maybe Remus will even tell Draco about the self-harm? Or maybe Draco will tell Remus what Harry told him? No, he wouldn’t do that, Draco is excellent at keeping secrets. Draco won’t say more than Harry basically gave him permission to say, but Harry suddenly doesn’t want that either. He doesn’t want them to be worried, or to get him a therapist. He doesn’t want to take up the time of a therapist who could be helping someone else. 

“Fuck” he mutters, placing his head in his hands and sitting down on the toilet. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Harry wants to tear his hair out in frustration. He wants help so badly, he really does. And he also doesn’t want it at all. He doesn’t understand how a person is supposed to deal with thoughts that are so different it feels like he’s being torn in half. 

He casts a quick tempus charm, and realises he still has ten minutes before he has to be in class. Plenty of time for a couple of cuts he decides, and summons his blades from his backpack. He pulls down his jeans, draws the blade quickly across his thigh three times, places a band aid on it so it won’t bleed through and leaves the stall. He still doesn’t feel all right with the whole situation, but he’s able to put it out of his mind. He knows it’s not a permanent solution, but it will get him through the school day. 

That evening Harry studies the scars on his arm and thighs, with his new glasses he’s able to see them even better than before. He can see where they are red and raised, and he can see the white and faded ones he thought had disappeared completely. He feels a bit sick, studying his scars like this, admiring them. He knows he should hate the scars, but he can’t bring himself to do so. Sure, he hates the ones on his hand saying ‘I must not tell lies’, he hates the one on his forehead and the ones Dudley has given him over the years. He doesn’t hate the ones he’s put there himself. In fact, he thinks, stroking one of the scars with his thumb, he thinks he might love them. 

He hears Draco enter their room, and is glad that he thought to pull his curtains shut. He loves his scars, but he’s also ashamed of them. So he pulls up his pyjamas and opens the curtains to face the other boy.

“Hi Draco, sorry for just disappearing after dinner. I just needed, I don’t know, to be away from people I guess.” He says, really wanting to ask if Draco spoke to Remus about him.

“That’s fine Harry, I was just trying to get some studying done anyways. I think I might actually pass muggle studies thanks to you though. I thought for sure I was going to fail when I decided to take it.” Draco says, smiling and putting his bag on his bed. 

Harry laughs. “So I help you pass muggle studies and you help me pass life? Fair deal for you.”

“Speaking of, I spoke with professor Lupin. He’ll talk to someone over at st. Mungos and they will owl you over the Christmas holidays with date for your first appointment.” Draco says, and he says it so casually Harry almost feel like it’s all right that he has to get a therapist. Like it’s a normal thing that people actually do. 

“Oh, ok. I yeah, ok.” Harry says.

“Eloquent as ever Potter” Draco says, smirking. “By the way, I’ve been thinking. You should invite Ron and Hermione over one day over the holidays. I know you’ve been feeling bad about avoiding them.”

Harry’s saved from answering though, because as Draco sits down on his bed he knocks down his bag, causing all the content to scatter across the floor. 

“Shit” says Draco, getting off the bed again to start picking it up.

Harry gets up to help him, picking up quills, empty inkwells and a few pieces of parchment. He’s about to go put it all back in Draco’s bag when he sees his own handwriting on one of the pages.  
He smiles as he reads over the written conversation he and Draco had weeks ago, right before his detention with Remus. There though, at the bottom of the paper is something Draco must have written without passing the paper back to Harry. Harry knows he would have remembered reading it, because what’s written there suddenly changes everything.

_But of course you can’t see that I care, you can’t even see that I’m falling in love with you ___

_Harry reads the last line several times before noticing that he’s dropped the inkwells and the quills back on the floor._

_“Harry what are you..” Draco starts to ask, but breaks off when he sees what Harry’s reading. “Oh” he says then, taking a step back from Harry._

_“Is it true?” Harry asks, still not looking up from the words. _Falling in love, in love, falling in love with you ___seems to flash before his eyes._

__“Yes.” Draco says simply, no excuses or explanations. “Yes, it’s true.”_ _

__“Oh” says Harry, not finding any words in his vocabulary. Draco likes him, Draco’s falling in love with him? Flashes of earlier conversations come back to him, and he realises that he probably could have figured it out sooner. It’s not too easy to notice things like that though, especially when you’re too wrapped up in your own mental issues._ _

__Harry wonders how he’s supposed to reply. He knows he has nothing to offer the other boy. Sure, he returns the feelings, but he’s barely hanging on as it is. He knows he doesn’t have the energy and capacity to do everything a relationship would demand of him. He knows he can’t give Draco anything, he can only ever take. Harry doesn’t want to do that._ _

__“I’m sorry Draco, I just, I don’t have anything to give you” he says, even though he can feel his heart physically aching in his chest._ _

__“It’s all right Harry. I don’t expect you to return my feelings. I know you have a lot to deal with, so that’s why I didn’t tell you. I hope this won’t change anything? I still care about you as a friend too.” Draco says, and he looks so anxious all Harry wants is to go over and hug him._ _

__“Of course it won’t change anything. You’re my best mate.” Harry says, trying to put as much warmth in the words as possible._ _


	10. Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm so sorry I took so long with this chapter. Life has been busy and messy, and for whatever reason actually writing out this chapter was really hard.

Harry works as hard as he can on not letting Draco’s revelation change anything. It’s hard though, because knowing he likes Draco and knowing Draco likes him does change things. It changes what Harry assumes is going on when they sit next to each other on the sofa, it changes what he thinks about when he’s wanking over the magazine he stole from Draco. It changes everything really. Except their friendship, because that is still there. It’s there, and it’s strong. And that’s why it still feels natural that Draco is going to spend Christmas with Harry in his apartment. 

During the last week Draco has developed a need to _talk_ about things. Everything from how Harry feels about his impending therapy session to how Harry feels about changing in their shared room now that he knows Draco has feelings for him to how Harry feels about their agreement that Draco should spend Christmas with Harry. Of course the talking does resolve things too. Like when Draco asked Harry if he was still comfortable having him over for Christmas. Harry had said yes of course, because he really is comfortable having Draco around, it feels somehow safe. That’s a line of thoughts he doesn’t want to go down though, because examining his feelings concerning Draco is a sure-fire way to get himself depressed and lovesick all at once. 

Harry is a bit nervous about sleeping arrangements, seeing as he only has the one bed. He’ll take the couch he figures, and Draco can have the bedroom. Harry doesn’t really mind where he sleeps as long as he’ll have some privacy for his less fortunate habits. Waving away his thoughts Harry surveys the room, he’s late packing as usual. He thinks he’s got everything though, and he does have the money to buy new things should it become a problem. 

“What are you looking for?” Draco asks from the couch he’s lounging on. The blonde probably finished packing days ago, Harry thinks somewhat resentfully. 

“Nothing really, just trying to remember if I’ve packed everything.” He says. 

“Well have you remembered your four W’s?” Draco asks.

“The four whatnows?” asks Harry, frowning. 

“Wand, wardrobe, wallet and woiletries” Draco explains, grinning. 

“Uhm, Draco, toiletries doesn’t start with a W” Harry says, laughing at the other boy. 

“Exactly!” Draco says excitedly “That’s what makes you remember it.”

“I don’t know if that’s brilliant or ridiculous” Harry laughs, and decides not to argue the point. “But yeah, I have my four W’s”.

“Then you’re all set! We’re going to have to go out shopping for food and things anyways, so if you’ve forgotten something you can just buy it” Draco says, sitting up straight on the sofa. 

“Eager to leave are you?” Harry asks, noticing Draco’s foot tapping on the floor. 

“Yeah, if we pass the test today we’ll be able to apparate home tomorrow instead of taking the train. You know how much I hate the train.” Draco says, drumming his fingers now. 

“The test isn’t for another two hours” says Harry, “and you’ll pass it. You’ve apparated perfectly every time our past three training sessions.”

Harry’s pretty sure he won’t pass the test this time. Apparition demands a good awareness of your own body, and Harry really doesn’t have that. The cutting helps a bit, but a lot of the time his body doesn’t so much feel like his body as some sort of thing he lives in. Like it doesn’t really belong to him. That combined with his concentration issues doesn’t really make him great at apparating, he’s only managed to do it right a couple of times. As long as Draco passes he’ll be able to side-along Harry though, so it doesn’t matter all that much.

“You really think I’ll be ok?” Draco asks, chewing on his bottom lip. A trait Harry’s pretty sure the blond has stolen from him. 

“I am, now get off the sofa. We’re going, you’ll just stress yourself out if you’re sat here thinking about it. We’ll go to Hogsmeade and I’ll buy you a good luck coffee or something.”

Draco practically flies off the sofa to get his coat, obviously eager. “Brilliant, then I won’t be too cold for the test either. Aren’t you worried though?” 

“Not really,” says Harry, searching for his coat in the mess he’s made on the bed while packing. “Worst case scenario I re-take the test in the spring. I’m not too worried about it, I prefer flying to apparating any day.”

In the end Draco side-alongs Harry and their luggage back to the alley behind Harry’s flat, a huge grin on his face.

“I did it! International, side-along apparition! Wasn’t that brilliant?” 

“Yeah, really brilliant.” Says Harry, and promptly throws up. Apparating such a long distance really doesn’t do much for his health it seems. 

“Shit, sorry” he says, when he finally catches his breath again. “That was disgusting.”

“Are you alright? I didn’t do the apparition wrong did I? Did you get splinched?” Draco asks. 

Before Harry can answer there are hands all over his body, probably searching for a missing body part or something. Harry drags in a sharp breath, his skin seems to tingle wherever Draco touches him.

“I’m fine. You did it perfectly. I just tend to get sick from magical travel. Happens sometimes with the floo too, but apparition tends to be worse.”

Despite Harry’s reassurances Draco insists on carrying not only his own, but Harry’s luggage too, back to Harry’s flat. He then insists on Harry laying down on the couch while he makes tea for them both. 

Harry doesn’t really know if he’s exasperated, annoyed or warmed by the show of concern. By the time they start getting hungry though he insists on accompanying Draco to the supermarket. And when he’s watching Draco try to figure out what toaster waffles are it is so worth it. Toaster waffles aren’t the only thing that confuses Draco, apparently everything made in a microwave is also very strange to the other boy. 

“But the plastic has to melt when you heat it, right? And who would eat this in the first place? It looks utterly disgusting.” He says, holding up a box of microwaveable salmon by his fingertips, as if disgusted to be touching the thing. 

“No, the plastic won’t melt. It really does taste disgusting though. Saves you the trouble of actually cooking, so I guess that’s why they’re popular. I ate a few of them over the summer. What I really should have is a house-elf.” Harry says, only half joking. 

“But you have a house elf, don’t you? You inherited the Black fortune. I’m positive they must own at least one house elf.” Draco says, unintentionally confusing a random passing muggle. 

“Well there was Kreacher” Harry says, “Hang on, you mean I own him now?”

“Well yeah, when you inherit a fortune or a house the elf comes with it. Unless Sirius wrote specifically something different, but I can’t imagine he would have.”

“How do I know?” asks Harry.

“Try summoning him, maybe not here though. Muggles don’t know house-elves right? Anyways, you really should take a trip to Gringotts and get an overview of your estates and such. Both the Potter and the Black family are rather wealthy I think, you might own more than you know about.” Draco says.

Harry notices the other boy entering his ‘lecture mode’, so he decides he’ll continue the conversation safely back at his flat. Attempting to distract Draco he picks up a bag of maltesers. 

“Ever had these? They’re brilliant.” 

***

Back at his flat Harry stands in the living room between Draco and purple splattered walls feeling utterly ridiculous. Apparently he’s supposed to just say Kreachers name with the intention of the elf showing up, and the elf will appear. 

“Uhm” he says, hesitantly. “Kreacher, would you please -”

A loud pop cuts him off, and suddenly there is an elf stood before him. Kreacher drops into a reluctant bow, obviously sneering at Harry.

“Master is calling Kreacher.”

“Er, yeah.. Hi” Harry says, not feeling any less ridiculous just because the elf appeared when he called it. 

“Is master having a task for Kreacher?” the house elf asks, now glaring at Harry. 

“Please don’t call me master.” Harry says, disturbed by the word. 

“Very well sir” says Kreacher, making Harry sigh.

Draco simply laughs. “If you want him to call you Harry you’ll probably have to tell him that explicitly.”

“Oh, young master Draco is being here” Kreacher says. If Harry didn’t know better he’d suspect the elf was excited. 

“Ok, so uh, Kreacher. Please call me Harry. And I want you to follow all orders Draco gives you. Please consider him your master as well as me.”

Harry doesn’t think anything could have prepared him for the reaction this gets from Kreacher. The elf breaks down to a crying ball on the floor. Harry looks from the sobbing elf to Draco, wordlessly begging for help or an explanation. Draco looks just as stunned as Harry does though, but he’s not looking at Kreacher. Somehow Draco seems stunned by Harry. 

“Shit, Kreacher, I’m sorry. Fuck, what did I do?” Harry asks. “Draco, why are you looking at me like that?”

Draco shakes his head, as if trying to shake off his stunned expression. “You just told Kreacher to consider me a master. Do you know that officially makes me his master as well as you?”

“Well yeah, that’s what I wanted” Harry says, raising his voice to be heard over the crying house elf. 

“No, but you can’t take it back. The only way would be for me to give him clothing. That order makes him mine as much as yours.” At Draco’s word Kreacher lets out a howl.

“Kreacher is finally be serving a Black again. Kreacher is being very happy now. Thanking master Harry, thanking master Draco.” 

Harry grins. “That’s brilliant, isn’t it? Now you can call him to, and have him help you out. He sure seems happy about it.”

“You really are an unusual wizard Harry” Draco says, then promptly turns to give Kreacher a thorough explanation of everything that apparently needs doing around the flat. Harry stops paying attention halfway through, opting to leave them at it and go have a shower.

Exiting the shower he’s relieved to see that Kreacher has somehow turned his double bed into two singles. He doesn’t have too long to think about the beds though, because a wonderful smell of food drifts into the bedroom. Suddenly realising he hasn’t eaten since breakfast Harry feels his stomach rumble at the smell. 

Dinner is a rather quiet affair. Harry tries asking Kreacher to sit with them and eat, but ends up getting two pairs of judging eyes turned towards him. They spend the rest of the evening chatting and reading books. Or Draco reads, and Harry tries not to watch him read. They take turns using the bathroom to get ready for bed, and then turn in. Before he falls asleep Harry breathes a relieved sigh. This will work out, it’s just like at Hogwarts, only with no classes. 

“We should go shopping for Christmas presents tomorrow, don’t you think?” Draco asks, sleep evident in his voice. 

“Yeah, I should get something for Hermione and the Weasleys at least. What best says ‘sorry for going into a coma for three years then avoiding you all for six months’ and also ‘I’m fine, please don’t worry about me’?”

Draco huffs in amusement, face half buried in his pillow. “Chocolate for the Weasleys and a book for Granger should do the trick.”

The next morning Harry wakes up early. He can’t actually see his watch without his glasses on, especially in the dark. Draco’s still asleep however, and there’s no sign of the sun behind the window curtains. Deciding he won’t get any more sleep anyways Harry gets up as quietly as possible and heads for the bathroom. He knows he doesn’t really need a shower again before heading out today, but the lure of warm water on a cold morning draws him in. 

When he feels like the water has warmed him inside and out Harry steps out wrapping a fluffy towel around himself. He’s pretty sure the towel wasn’t as fluffy before Kreacher came to live here, and he briefly wonders if this is something Draco requested or the hose elf came up with on his own. 

Glancing at his toiletry bag Harry feels his skin start to itch. Absently scratching at his wrist he considers if he should cut. He doesn’t really _need_ it, not right now. He wants it though, and he doesn’t know for sure when he’ll get the chance again. His thoughts race back and forth at alarming speeds. Trying to make him cut, trying to make him leave the bathroom without it. 

The thing about having an internal argument about whether or not I should cut, Harry thinks as he reaches for his blades, is that the argument itself always make me need it anyways. He pulls on his pants and pyjama-bottoms before sitting down on the floor with a wad of paper in one hand and his blades in the other. He starts making straight lines on his arm, avoiding the tattooed one. When he messes up his system though, Harry becomes angry. Cutting haphazardly, not caring if one cuts crosses another. 

A sudden knock on the door makes him jump. “Harry, you have been in that bathroom forever. Please don't tell me that mop on top of your head is deliberate." 

Panicked, and unable to remember if he locked the door or not Harry quickly pulls on his pyjama-top and shoves his blades and the bloodied paper underneath the sink cabinet. It’s a good thing too, because just as he stands up the door opens. 

"Uhm, no sorry. I actually don't really do anything with my hair at all. No point really." He says, trying to appear casual. 

"Well some of us actually try to make an effort on how they look, so if you don't mind..." Draco says, making his way towards Harry and the mirror. He freezes in his steps before he makes it that far though. 

"Harry, is that blood on your pyjamas?" Looking down at his arm in panic Harry sees the patches of blood there. He forgot to stop the bleeding. 

"Uhm, yeah. I cut myself shaving earlier." Harry says, hoping Draco will believe the excuse.

"Do you think I'm that stupid? The blood is on your arm, you don't have a cut on your face, and also, I can see that you haven't shaved."

Draco quickly finishes walking towards Harry, and tries to pull Harrys sleeve up. Harry steps back, pulling his arm to his chest as if protecting it. 

"Don't touch me! Just go do your beauty stuff. It's obvious that you need it." Harry hates being mean. He really does, but he’s willing to try pretty much anything to make Draco leave him alone. He’s thought about telling the other boy. But not like this, never like this. It’s humiliating, and it’s scary, and Harry doesn’t want Draco to see. The comment doesn’t seem to deter the blond though, because he simply follows Harry step by step until Harry’s back hits the wall. 

"Please, just please leave me alone." Harry begs, feeling even more humiliated when he notices his vision blurring with unshed tears.

Draco gives Harry a sympathetic look. "I'm not going anywhere Harry, you might as well show me."

Harry tries to pull air into his lungs, because he has to say something. Has to give an explanation. The air won’t come though, not the right way. Breathing feels all wrong, and his body feels all wrong. All he really can do is stand there, heave for breath, shake and try not to cry. Soft finger wrap around his hand, and a careful hand slowly pulls back the sleeve of his pyjama. 

Harry closes his eyes, he doesn’t want to see. The shower washed off the concealer, and he knows what Draco’s seeing. Not just the cuts from today, but the scars from half a year of cutting. 

Without opening his eyes Harry listens to the soft gasp Draco lets out. "Please, let's just forget about this.”

"No Harry, we can't just forget this. Oh you poor thing, why do you do this? You don't have to cut yourself. Please, you have to stop."

Harry feels tears escaping from behind his closed eyelids. Draco isn’t angry, and he doesn’t hate him. But he pities him, Harry doesn’t know what’s worse. And Draco doesn’t understand. Harry can’t stop.

"No, I can't stop, I won't stop." Harry says, because right now it’s the only thing he’s sure of.

Draco let’s go of Harry’s hand, only to start walking around the room from the sound of it. "Where are the blades? You can stop, and you will stop! I will make sure you stop. I will watch you all the time if I have to, I won't allow this."

Suddenly Harry’s mad. "Won't allow it?" He shouts. "And who are you to decide that? I can do whatever the fuck I want, I'm a bloody adult. If I want to cut myself I will. And nothing you, or anyone else does is going to stop me! Why do you care so much anyway? Or maybe you don't care at all, is that it? You WANT me to suffer, you love to see me in agony, so you will deny me the only thing that helps?"

The pure frustration of the groan Draco makes surprises Harry. “No, of course not. But I just, I, oh FUCK” Draco says, pulling on his hair. Then Harry is suddenly pushed against the wall, and before he knows what’s happening Draco kisses him. Harry can somehow feel all of Draco's anger and desperation. It doesn’t last long before the blond pulls away though.

“Shit, sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, I know you don’t feel -” Harry decides to cut him off by kissing him back. Harry amazes at how Draco's lips makes fireworks explode in his head. Every reason he had for hiding his feelings from Draco seems to have evaporated as soon as he felt those lips against his own. Harry kisses Draco with everything he has. How could he have lived his entire life without kissing Draco?

Harry feels himself grow hard, and he can feel Draco's erection against his thigh, so he knows he isn’t the only one. Part of him want to feel ashamed, but the safety he always feels around Draco seems to be more _there_ than ever. 

Wanting more Harry starts unbuttoning Draco’s shirt. He needs to feel the other boys skin. Apparently getting the idea Draco starts to unbutton Harrys pyjama too. When they’re both shirtless Harry breaks away from the kiss to just look at Draco. The other boy takes the moment to grab his wand and heal the fresh cuts on Harry’s arm. Harry pushes back his protests, fresh blood isn’t really appropriate for their current activity. Instead he studies Draco in awe. 

The smooth almost white skin seems to glow despite the harsh bathroom lighting. "Beautiful," he says, knowing it’s not a compliment boys necessarily like, but lacking a better description. In response Harry receives a lick to his nipple, and he’s only able to let out a breathy moan. When Draco starts sucking on Harrys nipple the moans stop being breathy, and are just plain loud. Never in his life has Harry felt anything that good. Then Draco pinches his other nipple, blending pain with pleasure and Harry nearly comes in his pants.

"Bed" he says “please, oh fuck that feels good”. He’s almost forgotten his request for a bed when he feels the strange sensation of being squeezed through something way to small. When the feeling stops he finds himself on top of his bed.

“Fuck, did you really just apparate us to the next room?” He asks, laughing at Draco’s sheepish look. 

“Yeah, guess I got a bit impatient” Draco says.

“You’re not impatient, you’re just a show off” Harry says, getting comfortable next to Draco on the small bed. He finds himself being immensely grateful for the size of the bed when the tight fit makes Draco’s erection rub up against his own. 

Draco doesn’t answer Harry’s insult, instead he starts sucking and licking Harry's neck, making him moan. When the blonde suddenly bites him Harry arches his back, feeling his cock grow even harder. Having Draco hurt him feels so good Harry thinks he might lose his mind. The pleasure and pain mixing into something Harry knows he can never have enough of.

Still desperate for more Harry pulls down Draco's pyjama bottoms and sees a huge bulge in his boxers. Oh Merlin that’s hot! He barley notices Draco pulling on his own pyjama, too caught up in his need to reach out and _touch_. When he does notice he lifts his hips to help out, and suddenly they’re both in their boxers. Harry reaches out a tentative hand to feel the bulge in Draco’s pants. It’s hot, and hard and slightly wet with pre-cum, and it makes him groan and want for more. 

He feels Draco’s hand stroking the scars on his thigh, and Harry stops breathing for a second. He’d forgotten they were there. Draco doesn’t say anything, he just continues touching the scars. Running his fingers over the bigger ones one at a time. Harry tries to read the other boys expression, but he doesn’t understand what’s behind the soft face next to him.

“I know they’re ugly” He says, trying to make Draco say something. Suddenly grey eyes pin him to the bed. 

“They’re part of you. I don’t think anything that’s part of you could ever be ugly. They’re the physical manifestation of the pain you feel Harry, and it makes me sad to see that you’ve suffered this much.”

“I’m sorry” Harry says, not really knowing what he’s apologising for, but feeling bad that Draco’s hurting. 

“Don’t be. These scars, they’re not ugly or beautiful. They just are. Knowing about them doesn’t change anything for me, except that now I know you better. I’m sorry I got mad.”

Harry looks into the grey eyes and sees the sincerity there. He sees worry and pain, but also a warmth that threatens to melt him. Not finding any words he reaches up and kisses Draco again. Draco is laying half on his side, half over Harry and Harry decides he wants the other boy on top of him. When he starts pulling softly on the other boy Draco seems to understand, placing one of his legs between Harrys and resting some of his weight on him. 

"Too many clothes, need..aah" Harry says after kissing in this position for what feels like forever. "Need them off!"

Draco smiles at this and pulls Harrys boxers down in one swift move. Suddenly self-conscious Harry tries to cover his erect cock with his hands, but Draco stops him. "No, Harry. Don't hide it." Draco says, a satisfied smirk on his face. When he reaches down to pull of his own boxers, Harry can’t stop looking. He wants to touch it, taste it, he wants it buried deep inside him.

"I want to, can I.. taste it?" he asks hesitantly.

Draco smirks again. "Only if I can taste yours first."

Draco proceeds to scoot down the bed, placing himself between Harry’s legs. Draco trails slow kisses up and down Harry’s thighs, and even a few on his groin. It’s not enough though, and Harry suspects the other boy wants him to beg. He really doesn’t mind providing. “Please, oh, fuck, Draco please!” 

When Draco takes Harrys cock in his mouth Harry lets out a relieved sigh. Draco is slowly sucking, every once in a while using his teeth, creating that wonderful pain-pleasure Harry’s already come to love. He trashes on the bed, knowing he won’t last long. When Draco increases the speed, Harry feels himself coming close. He wants to warn Draco, but he can’t seem to make his mouth form proper words.

The second Draco’s roaming hands latch on to Harry’s nipple and squeezes Harry can’t contain himself anymore. The feeling of Draco swallowing around him as he comes is something he’d never even imagined excised. It’s the best orgasm he’s ever experienced, and he just wants to do this again and again. 

"That was, just, wow." Harry mutters when he’s regained some energy. “Now it’s my turn.”

Harry doesn’t really know what he’s doing, so he decides to start off like Draco did. Scooting down the bed and placing himself between the other boys thighs. He wanted to tease Draco a bit first, but seeing the pre-cum leaking out of the head he can’t stop himself. He has to taste. It’s a bit salty and bitter, not really tasting either bad or good. Something about the idea of it though, of drinking Draco down makes Harry groan. 

He swallows as much down as he can, trying to avoid using his teeth. When Draco thrusts his hips Harry gags a bit, but he finds he doesn’t really mind. In fact, he’s already growing hard again. He makes his mouth as tight as he can, moving his head up and down. Allowing Draco’s cock to slip in and out of his mouth, running his tongue over it. After a while Harry pulls off, breathless. 

“I really don’t know what I’m doing you know” he says, not really knowing if it’s a question or a statement. He knows he’s not doing the best job ever, but he hopes it still feels good. 

“You’re doing fine Harry, it feels great” Draco says, looking down at Harry where he’s resting his head on Draco’s thigh. “Come up here though, I want to try something.”

Harry obliges, crawling up the bed to give Draco a kiss before he does whatever it is he wants to try. Then he lies down on his side and studies the beautiful blonde beside him. Draco turns over on his side as well, facing Harry. Then he shuffles impossibly close, aligning his cock with Harry’s. Harry’s sharp intake of breath quickly turns into a moan when Draco starts moving his hands over their joined cocks. It doesn’t take long for Harry to turn into a muttering mess again, he runs his hands over Draco. Grabbing him and pulling him as close as possible. Not long after Draco’s entire body is shaking, and he’s moaning into Harry’s neck. They’re both jerking into Draco’s hands now, breathless and sweaty. 

Draco comes first, biting down on Harry’s neck as he does to stifle his groan. The pain of the bite, and the look of Draco as he comes undone is enough to make Harry climax for the second time. They lay like that for a while, just basking in the pleasure and scent of sex.

“Are you ok?” Harry asks eventually, shifting a bit so he can lay on his back.

“Yeah, I’m brilliant actually” Draco says, laying his head on Harry’s shoulder and accioes the covers from the other bed to cover them both. “I think I’ll sleep a little actually, I feel amazingly relaxed, and it’s still way too early to be up in the holidays.”

“Yeah, me too” says Harry, revelling in the warmth of the covers and the boy that’s halfway draped over him. He wonders at the feeling of actually being relaxed and safe, wondering if he’s ever actually felt like that before. It doesn’t seem to matter though, because he’s feeling it now and it lulls him to sleep before he even notices feeling tired.


	11. Christmas

When Harry wakes up for the second time that day the sun is shining in through the windows. He figures that means it’s a more reasonable hour to be awake. He looks over at the boy sleeping next to him and smiles. Draco always look so peaceful when he sleeps, Harry thinks, especially with the sunlight making patterns of shadow in his hair. Harry loses the smile quickly when the guilt hits him. He knows Draco is in love with him, the other boy said as much. Harry doesn’t really believe Draco though, because even though Draco knows about his self-harm now he doesn’t really know how bad Harry is. But no matter how Draco really feels _he_ thinks he’s in love with Harry, and now he probably thinks they’re dating or something. Harry doesn’t think he can date Draco, not because he doesn’t want to though. Harry realises he wants to call Draco his boyfriend more than anything. His reasons for not dating Draco are quickly resurfacing though. 

Harry knows he won’t be able to be a good boyfriend to Draco. He can’t handle his own problems, so if something were to happen to Draco Harry knows he won’t be able to help the other boy. There is also the responsibility he’d be placing on Draco. If something were to happen between them Harry would crash hard, so Draco would feel pressure to stay with him even if he didn’t want to. Some small part of Harry was whispering in his ear that basing all his happiness and recovery on a relationship wouldn’t really be fair to himself either. Maybe after he’s seen the therapist he’ll feel better, maybe he won’t be so fucked up. Smiling through the tears Harry hadn’t even realised had been running down his cheeks Harry thinks there may be hope for them. All he has to do is work hard to recover. 

Harry lies awake for a long time, watching the light from the rising sun move through the room. He muses over how he’s supposed to tell Draco that they can’t be more than friends. He doesn’t want to ask Draco to wait for him, because he doesn’t know how long recovery will take. When a loud series of knocks sounds from the front door Harry jumps, jolting Draco awake. Harry shakes his head at the questioning and somewhat grumpy look Draco gives him. Getting out of bed Harry realises his still naked, and quickly pulls on his pyjama bottoms. Who would be knocking on his door early in the morning? Not bothering with his sweater Harry just casts a quick glamor over the scars on his arm. The knocking has grown loud and persistent by the time Harry’s made his way over to the door. He barley has time to register a flash of red hair and messy brown curls before the yelling starts. 

“Harry James Potter! How dare you? You storm off after your birthday, send a short note and then we don’t hear from you for months! Months Harry! It’s been half a year, and nothing. I know you’ve been getting our letters, but you don’t even open them! And the only reason I know is because I had to charm them to get any information on you at all!” Harry stands stunned in the doorway as Hermione yells at him. 

“I’m sorry ‘Mione” he says, even though he knows it won’t help. 

When Hermione draws a breath, apparently ready to go off again Ron nudges her.

“Come on, let’s at least head inside before you finish biting his head off.” He says, grabbing on to his girlfriend’s arm and pulling her past Harry and inside. “Merlin Harry, you let Fred and George have a go at your walls? Don’t you know better?” Ron askes from somewhere within the flat. 

Harry really doesn’t want to close his door and join them. He has no idea what he’s supposed to say to his friends. He knows he should probably tell them about the whole depression thing, but the thought just scares the shit out of him. He finds motivation in the fact that Draco is currently in his bed naked, and he really doesn’t want his friends to find him if they start exploring the flat. Dejectedly he closes the door, heading in to the living room to face the fire. 

He isn’t disappointed. Hermione seems to only have been holding herself back until they’re all in the same room again before she starts up the yelling. From what she’s saying Harry knows they’ve been worried, and he figures that’s where her anger is coming from. He doesn’t get a chance to get a word in between Hermione’s ranting, and if he’s honest with himself he’s glad for the chance to just listen for a while. Seeing his friends makes him realise how much he’s missed them. He realises he’s missed them like he’s missing himself. At least the version of himself he was before depression ate him alive. 

His friends aren’t just people it’s fun to be around. They’re his family, and in a way they’re even part of him. And it is something completely different than whatever it is he has with Draco. When Harry is with Draco everything else seems to fall away, and it’s just the two of them. Nothing else seems to matter, and although that can be a good thing sometimes it’s scary too. Because when Draco isn’t around everything seems to fall apart again. Harry thinks maybe he’s been allowing himself to fall, not just for Draco, but into him. Leaving himself and all his problems outside. With his friends though it’s more like sharing the burden with them, giving and receiving both good and bad things, but still remaining himself. Or at least that’s what it used to be like when he was able to tell his friends about his problems. 

Harry shoots a guilty look over to the bedroom door, knowing Draco is inside. He hasn’t been fair to Draco. And not just because of the sex. He’s told Draco, and only Draco a lot. Draco knows about the depression and even the self-harm, and here Harry is refusing to do anything about it. Refusing to even try to stop cutting himself. Sure he has the therapist appointment, but he knows he’s not going to be able to go there by himself. And there’s the problem about only Draco knowing all of it, whether Harry wants it to or not it places a lot of responsibility on Draco. The way things are now they both know that either Draco takes him to the therapist, or he doesn’t go. Either Draco tries talking to him about his problems, or he doesn’t talk.   
Harry looks back to Ron and Hermione, distantly registering that Hermione is still talking to him, although she’s sounding somewhat calmer now. When he locks eyes with Ron though, he immediately looks away from his friends again. Because Ron doesn’t look mad or accusing, he just looks understanding. The look in Ron’s eyes feels different to how anyone has looked at him before, like they really see him. 

“Hermione” Ron says, cutting his girlfriend off mid-sentence. “Hermione stop, he gets it. Harry, are you depressed?” he asks.

The question punches Harry in the stomach, and stops him mid-breath. He looks dizzily at Ron and Hermione, noticing Hermione looking from Ron to him and back again. Harry notices Ron’s calm and persistent look. It was one thing for Draco and Remus to find out, they both figured it out because of something Harry had done. And they hadn’t really known Harry before, so it probably wasn’t much of a stretch for their imagination. Ron though, he’d just seen somehow.

“I, erh” Harry says, finally finding his voice only to realise he’s no idea what to say. “Yeah I suppose I am” he tries for the almost casual tone Ron had asked in, but doesn’t quite manage it. The slight shake to his voice, and the fact that he’s intensely studying his fingers to avoid eye-contact probably gives him away. 

“Yeah, I figured” says Ron, still sounding like it’s something normal. Like it’s not a huge failure on Harry’s part. Like it’s perfectly fine for the ‘boy who lived’ to be fucking mental. Like Harry isn’t a freak. “It’s been going on for a while hasn’t it?”

“Started back in fifth year I think, but I don’t know. I guess it had been coming for a while even then. Kinda like a dementor you know? You don’t really notice it’s there until you’re all out of good memories to cast a patronus.” Harry finds himself trying to explain it to his friends, suddenly desperate for them to understand. 

“So it really was a suicide attempt then, when you drowned? I always wondered. Are you getting any help for it?” Ron says. Harry gapes at him, and a quick glance at Hermione shows he’s not the only one. 

“I erh, I have an appointment on Wednesday. With a therapist. My first appointment.” Harry says, choosing to ignore the topic of suicide attempts. Hermione, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet since Ron brought the topic up seems to take his lack of denial as a confirmation.

“Oh Harry” she says, bursting into tears and throwing herself at him for a hug. He accepts it, but awkwardly lifts a hand attempting to push her bushy brown hair out of his eyes and mouth. 

“Harry, I’m so sorry I had no idea. Oh it must have felt so lonely! I’m so glad you finally told us.” She says, pulling back to look at him. “And I’m so proud of you for telling us too, that can’t have been easy.”

“We’re here for you mate” Ron says, sending Harry a small smile over Hermione’s shoulder. “And I’ve just got to say this, because I can literally see the shame oozing from your pores. Depression is a disease. Having it does not make you a bad person, it does not make you a disappointment. You are not weak for having it. It’s also a very real disease, and it _is_ the reason you’re feeling the way you are. You are not to blame.”

Harry stares at Ron, trying as best as he can to absorb the words. To place them in a safe place so he can look at them when he needs to. Hermione has let go of him, so he falls into the sofa and tries not to cry.

“How do you know so much about this stuff?” he asks, looking at his friend. The one famously known to have ‘the emotional capacity of a teaspoon’. 

“Well I worked for a year with Fred and George at their shop. And, I mean, it’s a joke shop. So I figured it was useful to learn about the opposite I guess. You know, depression and anxiety and eating disorders and stuff. We made a line for those suffering from it, to help out a bit.” 

“You did?” Harry asks, surprised.

“Yeah, it’s no cure mind you, but just little things to help out. A self-writing journal that puts your thoughts on paper, a mirror that compliments you on everything but looks, little things to fiddle with, candy with the nutrition of a full meal, a first aid kit for self-harm injuries with temporary tattoos included, a teddy bear that will read or play music until you fall asleep. Those kinds of things.” Ron says, listing the items off. 

“That sounds amazing Ron, you must have helped loads of people” Harry says, ignoring the fact that Ron seems to know about self-harm as well. 

“Dean seems to like them at least” Ron says, “he’s been having problems with anxiety.”

“Yeah, I know” says Harry, remembering how Dean had helped him when he had an anxiety attack. “How is he and Seamus? Fuck, I’m so sorry for what I said over the summer.”

“I’m sorry too, Harry” Hermione says, surprising Harry. “We shouldn’t have reacted the way we did either. I know how your relatives must have spoken about being gay, so of course you didn’t know what to say or think.”

“It’s alright Hermione, I was being a right git.” Harry says, again glancing at his bedroom door and wondering if he should tell them Draco is in there. He’s not sure if Draco is awake though, and he really doesn’t want his friends finding him naked in a sex-rumpled bed. 

“So what are your plans for Christmas?” Ron asks.

“Well, I figured I’d just stay here if I’m honest. Take it slow.”

“Mate, that is so not an option. You’re coming home with us, then we’ll go to the burrow for Christmas dinner tomorrow. Then on Wednesday we’ll come with you to the therapist’s office.” Ron says.

Harry doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to just leave Draco alone here, but he feels like denying his friends will be seen as him pushing them away again. Then again, he kinda does want to leave Draco for a bit. He doesn’t know how to spend a week with just the two of them after what just happened between them. Maybe they both just need a break. He can’t just leave now without saying anything though.

“I’ll come over later yeah? I still have some Christmas shopping to do” he says, smiling at his friends. 

He walks his friends to the door, accepting hugs from both of them and promising that he’ll be at their place by the end of the day. Seconds after he closes the front door Draco steps out of the bedroom. He’s only wearing his pants, so it takes Harry embarrassingly long to notice the expression on the other boys face.

“You’re leaving.” He says, not quite a question. Harry can’t decide if it’s a pure statement either though, so he answers it.

“Yeah, I am. I need to spend some time with Ron and Hermione. I haven’t been fair to them lately.” Harry deliberately doesn’t mention needing some space for himself, and mentally scolds his supposed gryffindor courage for disappearing whenever he really seems to need it. 

“Yes I can see how you’d want to be with them now that you’ve got options.” Draco says, sounding almost hurt. He’s crossing his arms over his chest as if embarrassed at his state of undress, avoiding Harry’s eyes by pretending to study something behind the other boys head. 

“That’s not it Draco. You know it isn’t. You’re my friend too. I just think, maybe, erh, we should have some space?” Harry doesn’t mean for it to be a question, but he can’t stop his voice rising up at the end. Seeking Draco’s approval. 

“Space?” says Draco, still avoiding meeting Harry’s gaze. 

“Yeah. I just, I’m really sorry for what happened this morning. I’m not ready for a relationship” Harry says, and noticing Draco’s hurt expression quickly clarifies “with anyone. It’s not you, really. It’s just, well, my head isn’t really working right.”

Draco mutters something in response, and Harry can only hear about half of it. He gets the jest of it though: “It’s not you, it’s me”.

“It is me” Harry says, ignoring how stupid it sounds. “I wouldn’t make a good boyfriend to you, and we’d both be miserable for it. That, or I’d base my whole mental health on you and our relationship, and that really isn’t good for either of us, is it?”

“You know, I never said anything about a relationship.” Draco says, finally meeting Harry’s eyes. 

Embarrassment floods Harry’s cheeks. He’d assumed that’s what Draco wanted after he’d confessed his feelings. 

“Oh” he says, “but you said.. I thought, erh”

“I said I was falling in love with you. I never said I wanted a relationship. I decided to say fuck it to the whole pureblood tradition of marrying some girl my father set me up with. That doesn’t mean I don’t still appreciate some of the traditions.” Draco says, voice suddenly cold.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks, honestly confused. His knowledge on pureblood traditions is about average with his knowledge of history, non-existent. 

“I mean” Draco says. Pausing, Harry suspects, for effect “that I don’t want to enter a relationship with anyone until I’m financially and otherwise settled. I don’t have a job, a house, a degree or any money. I don’t have anything to offer.”

Harry wants to disagree with Draco. Tell the boy that he has everything to offer, but he doesn’t. He has his reasons for not being capable of a relationship right now. Draco has his. Harry won’t take those reasons away, or make something that’s obviously important to Draco seem invalid. It shouldn’t hurt that Draco doesn’t want a relationship with him either. After all, he started the whole conversation by refusing one himself. 

“Oh, alright then” he says, feeling woefully inadequate. “I still need some space though. Just a few days, just.. we had sex. And say whatever you want about relationships and stuff, that was bloody amazing. And I just need time to sort my head out. And I need to spend some time with Ron and Hermione, or I think she’ll have me killed.”

Harry has to make a physical effort to stop talking. When he manages it he opens his mouth again to say something that actually makes sense, but closes it when he realises he has no idea what that would be. 

Draco gets that look in his eyes again. Harry studies him, trying to figure out what it means. Is it hurt? Embarrassment? Disappointment?

“Alright then, I’ll just get my stuff and apparate back to Hogwarts then.” He says, and Harry gets it. Draco thinks Harry is kicking him out.

“What? no! You’ll stay here of course! I’ll only be gone for a few days. Until Wednesday probably. You could have your mum over. Or your friends?” Harry finishes, suddenly realising he doesn’t actually know if Draco still has any friends. He supposes that only proves how caught up in his own head he’s been.

“Yes Harry, I do have friends. Unlike you I actually both read and answer letters.” Draco says, and although his voice is trying to sound mocking Harry clearly hears the humour behind it. 

“Brilliant! That’s settled then. You’ll stay here, and have your mum and friends over for Christmas dinner. I’m sure Kreacher will make you something delicious.”

“You do realise I’ll have to transfigure these ghastly walls somehow right?” Draco says, eying Harry’s couch as well. 

“Yeah, I figure those won’t go over to well with the slytherins” Harry grins.

“You keep forgetting you too are a slytherin Harry” Draco says, smirking at the look of realisation on Harry’s face. 

“This place does look a lot like shit though” Harry says, surveying his flat and ignoring Draco. “Kreacher!” he calls, trying to hide his startled jump when the elf appears. 

“I was wondering, is there any way to make this place seem more” he hesitates, “erm, fitting, for Draco and me? Being the heirs of the Potter, Black and Malfoy lines and all that?”

Kreacher is nodding before Harry has time to finish his request. “Yes, yes master Harry, Kreacher can do it. Will make this” the elf looks around the room “small living arrangement, fit for his masters”. 

“Brilliant!” Harry says, smiling at the elf. “I don’t care if you take furniture and such from other places or if you buy new ones. I don’t want it to look like Grimmauld place though, that place was way to creepy for my taste.”

Kreacher disappears with a nod and a pop, and Harry turns towards Draco again. The silence in the room suddenly feels awkward. Harry hates it, craving the comfortable silences and just being they used to have. 

“Well, that’s that sorted then. I should head out; I really do have some Christmas shopping to do.”

Harry makes quick work of packing a bag with a few changes of clothing and his toiletries. Making sure his blades are safely placed along his items. He considers for a second leaving them behind, but the thought alone makes his heart hammer and his breath catch so he dismisses it. 

He makes a valiant effort to ignore the awkwardness in the air when he says goodbye to Draco, then makes his way towards Diagon in the search of Christmas presents.


	12. Diary of HJP

December 25th  
So Ron decided to give me a journal for Christmas. I suppose he thought I needed to write some stuff down, so here I am, writing. I don’t know if it makes me feel more like a girl or like Voldemort, but I suppose it doesn’t matter much. I miss Draco. And I’m not going to do that thing where I introduce you to people in my life as if you are a person, you are a book. Besides, I know who Draco is and that’s all that matters really. I only saw him yesterday, but I’ve gotten used to seeing him every day I suppose. It felt really good to meet the Weasleys again. I hadn’t thought it would. I thought they would be mad at me for being gone for so long, but they weren’t really. Ron and Hermione have been really nice too. They haven’t asked anymore about the depression or suicide attempt or anything. I think Ron’s been stopping Hermione though, because he gives her this look when she opens her mouth sometimes. 

December 27th  
I saw the therapist today for the first time. I suppose she was nice enough. She’s into quidditch at least, had this tiny broomstick flying around her office. I know because I might have spent more time looking at it than I did looking at her. I talked though. Made a real effort to answer every question she had as honestly as possible. I even told her about the cutting. And the only reason I’m even writing that here is that Ron assures me no-one besides myself will be able to read this book, ever. Magic really is brilliant. 

I think I’m a bit disappointed though. I don’t feel any different after therapy. I don’t even feel like I had time to say much at all. I don’t have time for this to take forever. I want to be better now. Or yesterday. Preferably several years ago. Oh well. I have a new appointment after new year, and she said something about an anti-depressant potion. Maybe that will help? Ron and Hermione were great. They came with me to the hospital, and waited outside while I had my appointment. They didn’t ask what we talked about either, which is good because I don’t really want to tell anyone you know?

I’m back home at the flat now. Kreacher has really gotten to work with the orders I gave him. He’s even found some pictures of me as a kid. With my parents and with Sirius and even with Remus. I didn’t even know they existed, so I’ve no idea where he found them. They’re up on the walls now, along with one of me and Draco from when we visited Hogsmeade to get me new glasses. I guess the prophet took one, but I never really noticed. The crazy elf actually framed it. The walls are rather boring now I think, but I suppose it does fit Draco better. I’m in my bed writing this. My bed, a single bed, on the opposite side of the room from Draco’s bed. I wish I could say that doesn’t bother me. It feels good to be home though. 

December 28th  
I’m pretty sure I would die of boredom if Hermione hadn’t given me about three thousand books for Christmas. I’ve actually read a whole one just today. Draco seems fixated on his homework. NEWT’s aren’t that important are they? And they’re over one year away. It’s kinda weird between me and Draco now. I mean, we’re still friends. And we still talk. But I don’t know. I feel like there is this distance. And I can’t explain it, or give an example so maybe it’s all in my head. But it’s like we took one step forward by sleeping together, and then we took two steps back after. And I know I’m not ready for a relationship. I know I’m too mentally fucked for that. But it still hurts like hell. And it’s not like he wants a relationship with me anyways. 

Anyways, time for dinner. Kreacher promised me tart for dessert today. 

December 29th  
Draco wants to host a party. Here, for new year. His friends and my friends he says. Let them get to know each other. With a party, here. I said yes of course, because I didn’t have a good reason for saying no. Really though. A party. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a party. Well there have been the ones after we won a quidditch game and stuff, and when we’ve celebrated a birthday. Not like a “grown-up” party though, with alcohol and stuff. 

December 30th  
Everyone is apparently very excited for the party. I’m not too happy about it. Dean and Seamus is coming, and I just feel like they must secretly hate me for how I acted at my birthday party. I was a right arse. I still haven’t told my friends I’m gay. Only Draco knows, and fuck how he knows. I can’t stop thinking about the sex. It was so brilliant. I didn’t think it would be. Now I know though, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to live without it really. I had a wank over it in the shower this morning, and I came so hard I fell on my arse. 

I haven’t cut in a few days. I don’t really know why. I haven’t been making a conscious effort to avoid it really, I suppose it just happened. Yeah, I know, my brain makes loads of sense. 

December 31st  
New year is really stupid when you think about it. Everyone all excited for another year, it’s not different from any other day of the year is it? It’s not like a new calendar will magically change things. 

January 1st  
New year, same me. I cut again today. And I’m hungover. And I want to die. I don’t want another year. I want to die, I want to die, I want to die. But I can’t die, can I? Sometimes I really fucking hate that there are people who insist on caring about me. And sometimes I really hate that I care that they care. Today is one of those sometimes I suppose. I wonder if the killing curse would work if I pointed my wand at myself and preformed it. I wonder if I really hate myself enough, if I really want to die enough to make it work. To mean it. 

I got properly sloshed last night, and I think I kinda had fun for a while there. In the space between being sober enough to be depressed and drunk enough to be sad. We played this drinking game, and I’m pretty sure I ended up coming out to everyone. I don’t remember it too good though, so I’ll have to ask Draco. I don’t really care either way to be honest. What does it matter if people know I’m gay? I am gay, and I’m not really in the mood to live long enough for anyone to react to it. 

January 3rd  
So my therapist diagnosed me with major depression. Big surprise right? I don’t know, it feels kinda good though. Like I have something to point at and say “that’s it, that’s why I can’t function like a normal human being.” My brain still won’t really let me believe it though. I mean, I probably don’t even have depression right? It’s just that being this fucked up needs a name. I don’t know. She gave me these potions to take, but supposedly I won’t feel any effects for another three weeks. Did you know one of the most common side effects of anti-depressant potions are suicidal thought? How fucked up is that? 

January 17th  
Draco’s started hanging out more with the seventh years. It’s weird because they’re younger, but they’re one year above us. I guess he needs more people to be around, because I know I’m depressing as shit. Also I don’t have much energy to do stuff either. I’m still feeling a bit jealous, but I know that’s irrational or whatever, so I’m going to stop feeling that. Or try at least. Fake it ‘til you make it and all that crap. 

February 4th  
HELP ME. I can’t function. My brain isn’t working. Help help help help help help. I cut myself, but it didn’t work. My brain is a mess. I’m literally sat here clutching my head, trying to write something to make sense of it, but it’s just a mess. Can someone please just fix me. Please. help. I fucking hate myself so fucking much I don’t know what to do. Fuck fuck fuck. 

February 5th  
Ok so yesterday was bad. I’m feeling a bit better now, at least well enough to think. And write. I saw my therapist today, and she’s increasing my dosage on the potions. Maybe I’ll feel more of an effect. 

February 14th  
So, valentine’s day today. I really hate that day. I have this huge assignment to do for charms class though, so I’ve just been staying in my dormitory working on it. I’ve been thinking about getting a new tattoo. Not really sure what I want yet though. 

Tattoo ideas:  
Expecto patronum? Maybe. I don’t know if it would be motivating or just a reminder of what I can’t do anymore.  
Memento vivere – Remember to live? Or memento mori, remember that you will die. Maybe a bit too depressing that one.  
Maybe a snake and a lion, to represent my houses. I refuse to think I’m all slytherin. Or all gryffindor for that matter.  
A tree or something? I like trees, maybe the one my wand’s made of. I don’t even really know how a holly tree looks though, it just makes me think of Christmas. So maybe not the best idea then. 

February 27th  
I’ve actually been feeling a lot better recently. Like, not perfect, but not like I want to die either. I think I’ve spent so much time wanting to be happy, trying to be happy, that it’s all fucked up in my brain. Maybe happy isn’t like a state of being, maybe it’s just an emotion you have sometimes. Maybe just being ok is the goal. And I’ve actually been feeling ok. I can do my homework and pay attention in class. I manage to fall asleep at night, and even wake up in the morning. 

April 2nd  
Sorry I haven’t written in a while. Nothing’s happened really. Just more of the same. I think the potions are making me feel a bit numb. Like I should be feeling worse, but I can’t. It’s a very strange feeling. Sometimes I just want to quit taking the potion to see how I really feel. But maybe this is how I really feel, since I’m on the potions in the first place. Maybe I should stop overthinking it. 

It’s been about a month since I cut last I think. I’m not really sure, because I struggle with placing my cutting in some timeline. It kinda feels like it’s something separate from my everyday life, like a parallel thing. I don’t know. Anyways, my scars are fading. I thought I would be happy about that. But it makes me feel all weird. I suppose they’ve been fading the whole time, but I used to add new ones before I noticed. Now though I can see them less and less, and it’s freaking me out. I hate them, but I love them too. They used to be all red and purple and swollen. Some of them still are, but a lot are just white now. Not even white, but almost skin coloured. Just a little bit lighter or darker. Maybe if they fade even more I can cover them up with a new tattoo, at least the ones on my arm. Maybe I should cut more to make sure they don’t fade. Then again, that’s probably not the best idea either. 

April 26th  
I went flying today. Ron and Dean came over to the school with brooms and a challenge for me and Draco. Draco took some convincing, but he put his homework away eventually. It is Easter after all. Ron insists he and Dean won the game. Draco insists we did. I’m pretty sure Ron’s right. There wasn’t a snitch to catch after all, and me and Draco are seekers at heart. It felt really good to be up in the air again. I’d forgotten how it felt. Or maybe I was scared to fly in case it didn’t feel that brilliant anymore. I felt free though, like I’d left my problems on the ground. I did consider flying as high as possible and then ‘falling’ off the broom, but it only lasted for a couple of seconds. 

Mai 12th  
I’m feeling like shit again and I don’t know what to do. I honestly thought I was better, but here I am: bleeding all over and wanting to die. I think it’s been like two months since I last cut, and somehow doing it now feels worse. Draco was all proud that I’d stopped. But I never really made a conscious decision to stop. I just felt better. Now I’m wondering if I felt better at all, or if I was just fooling myself. Even though I feel super guilty for cutting it feels so good too. I didn’t realise how much I’ve missed it. It’s like I’ve been holding my breath for ages, and I finally let it out. 

Mai 25th  
I’ve been cutting every day since I last wrote here I think. My therapist is calling it a relapse. Like, I was better, but then I got sick again. I don’t know. I can’t really remember how I felt when I thought I was better. It’s getting warmer and sunnier outside, and I don’t really give a shit. I think I used to like spring. Or was it fall? Because that meant a year away from the Dursleys? I can’t remember. Maybe I liked both. Maybe I hated both. 

June 17th  
Exams are going to go to shit. I haven’t really studied for a month. I’ve only done like the bare minimum required. Not even that for all classes. Remus is all worried again. I don’t know what he wants from me though, I’m in therapy. I’m doing the best I can. I take my potion every night, and I answer all the bloody question the therapist has for me. I just don’t feel any better. I feel like I haven’t spoken to Draco in ages, he’s off studying for his exams. I know I should be too, and I’m feeling more and more stressed about it. The problem is that the more stressed I get, the less I’m able to do anything about it. I can’t even begin to think about all the shit I have to do, because if I let myself think about it I feel like I want to tear my head off. 

July 3rd  
Draco’s spending the holiday in France with his mother. I kinda thought he’d be staying with me again, but I guess not. I mean, I want him to see his mother. And I know I’m all depressing to be around. But it kinda makes me feel like he secretly hates me. I mean, it would be fair if he did. I just miss him. He’s in the bed right next to me, but I still miss him so much. I don’t know if I can do my final year of school if I’m honest. I’ll be lucky to pass this one. I only started to keep Draco company anyways, and I don’t think I’m doing too good of a job at it. He’s made friends with people in our year now too, study buddies and all that, so I mean, he won’t be all alone here. 

I’m just so tired. I don’t think I’ve brushed my teeth in over a week. I’m just too exhausted to even remember doing it. Fuck, now I just feel gross. Maybe if I just take a year off, just to focus on my mental health it will work? Maybe I’ll feel better? Fred and George never got their NEWT’s, and they’re doing ok. They’re doing better than ok. I could get by with just my OWL’s. It’s not like I really have some dream job I’m chasing after anyways. 

July 21st  
So exams are over. I don’t know if I passed them, but at least I managed to pass my apparition test. That was months ago actually, I just forgot to write it here. Anyways, Draco is off in France and I’m alone in this flat with the boring walls. Well Kreacher is here, and the walls do have nice pictures on them. And I suppose I’m not all alone either. Ron and Hermione are coming over tomorrow. And Molly is absolutely determined to throw me a birthday party again. Hopefully it will be a lot better than last year’s disaster. 

I think I’m feeling a bit better again. I’m scared to get my hopes up though, because the last time I felt better it didn’t really last. Maybe I should try to enjoy it as much as possible though. 

August 30th  
I notice I’m not writing as much here when I feel good. And lately I’ve been feeling really good. I’m almost scared to write it down, because I don’t want to jinx it. I suppose a lot has happened. I’ve decided to do my NEWT’s by owl. So I don’t have classes, and I don’t live at Hogwarts. I just get owls with what I need to read, and suggested assignments to do. Then I show up and to my exams. I’m only taking the courses though. Defence, transfigurations and charms. I can always do more later if I need it. I think Draco is a bit mad that I won’t be there for our final year, but I think I just need time to sleep and heal or something. I mean, I’ve been feeling so much better since school ended for the summer. I don’t ever want to feel as bad as I did ever again. 

I actually passed most of my exams though, so that was a shock. I mean, I didn’t get very good grades, but I passed. Well everything except potions, but that was always going to go to shit I suppose. 

October 4th  
So it turns out that I’ll never be healthy. Ever. My therapist says I’ve got “recurrent depressive disorder”, and from what I can tell it means I’ll be depressed for as long as I live. Not constantly I guess, but on and off. A depression that just comes back and back and back. I didn’t think I had any hope left, but now I know that I did because it’s just been crushed. 

I thought I’d take this year, and I’d get better. And some stupid hopeful part of me thought that come summer I would be healthy, and Draco would be done with school, and we’d get together. And how stupid isn’t that? Because I won’t ever be healthy. I’ll always be like this. A depressed mess. I’m 20 years old and I already know my life will be shitty. How could anyone ever want to be with me? Some years I’ll love Christmas, and then other years I’ll be too depressed to even celebrate it. I can go days without leaving the bed. And there is no way to know when it will happen. How do you plan a holiday? Or a party? How about if I’m to messed up to remember an anniversary. And..

Fuck. And what about kids? I love kids, and I just always kinda assumed I’d have them. Hermione is pregnant now, I don’t think I wrote that. And I can’t help but look at her, and Ron, and the little belly, and know I’ll never have that. Because how the fuck am I supposed to take care of a kid when I can’t even take care of myself? I can’t do that. I won’t do that. I hate this so much. Why can’t my brain just work right?

I HATE THIS!

October 17th  
Is it possible to be depressed about being depressed? Because I think I am. I upped my dosage of the potion again, but I’m not really feeling the effects of it yet. Or maybe I am, maybe that’s why I’m all numb. 

October 31st  
Thers a small chance I’m drunk off my arse. Like maybe. Its 19 years since my mom and dad died tonight though. Can you blame me? I vistit, no vistited, fuck V I S I T E D their grave earler. Brought flowers and all. I don’t know what I’m writing here even. I think I’ll just cut a bit then go to bed. 

December 12th  
Wow, so my last entry here was a mess. I’ve been feeling better again lately. Wonder how long it will last this time. According to my therapist I will suffer depressive episodes forever. But with therapy and medication I can make the episodes shorter and milder, and further apart. I don’t know if I want to believe her. If I want to let myself hope again. I suppose it’s easier to hope now that I’m not feeling like crap. I’ve already bought everyone’s Christmas presents. Just in case I fall back into the hole before Christmas and don’t feel up to buying any. Good news though! Draco is coming to stay with me for Christmas! I’ve missed him so much! I barely got to see him this summer, and then he’s been off at school ever since. I was kinda worried he didn’t want anything to do with me after last Christmas. And after I dropped out and stuff. But we’ve been keeping in touch by owl. He wants to repeat the whole new year’s party thing, and I’ve told him yes. I’m feeling a lot more up to it this year. 

December 25th  
Happy Christmas! Can you believe I’ve had this journal for a year now? I’ve only filled about a third. I guess I’m just not the “write every day” kinda bloke. We decided to repeat last year’s Christmas arrangement, so I’ve been at the Weasleys and Draco’s been hosting for his mom and friends at our flat. Or my flat. The flat. Only yesterday we had lunch with Draco’s mom, and then he came with me for dinner at the Weasleys. They were really good about accepting him. And his mom was really nice to me. 

I can’t stop thinking about last Christmas though. About the sex. And just, I don’t know. The closeness. Because the sex was great. So fucking great. But just, feeling that close to someone was amazing. I just felt so safe. I want that again, and I want it with Draco. And I don’t know. Maybe he can put up with my depressive episodes? I don’t even know if he still likes me though. He probably doesn’t. It’s been a year after all. And he hasn’t really said anything. I can live with him as my friend though. As long as I get to have him in some way. And I guess that’s maybe what I wanted last year? To be ok enough to survive without him. Too bad now I have to. 

February 18th  
And I’m depressed again. I haven’t left my bed in three days. Hermione came over today and made me some food and cleaned up a bit. My room really did look like shit, but I wouldn’t let Kreacher in here. I just, I don’t know. I want to die. I literally cannot see any point in living at all. And it’s weird, because I’ve been reading what I wrote at Christmas. And I sound happy. And maybe I was, but right now I can’t seem to remember it. Fuck I’m so tired of feeling like this. And it’s not even just my irrational depressive thinking. I know this episode will pass. But I also know there will be another one, and another one, and another one. And I’m just so tired. I wish I’d just die in an accident or something. That way people wouldn’t have to be sad that I did it myself. I just, how do I explain to people I love that I want to die. That I want to leave them behind? That they aren’t enough for me to want to be here? But they are enough. It’s me that’s not enough. Fuck, I can’t even explain it to myself.


	13. No magic cure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm so so sorry this chapter is so late. We're nearing the end of the story now, maybe a couple more chapters.

“I’ve been coming here for over a year now” Harry says, shifting in his chair.

“Yes you have” the therapist, Aahna, says. 

“Then why aren’t I better? Why am I still like this?” Harry asks.

“You don’t feel like you’re getting better?”

“No, well I mean. I guess better. I can think now, most of the time. I don’t feel like I literally lose my mind every time I get depressed. I’m not sure that’s a good thing though” Harry says, studying the small broom flying around the office.

“You don’t? What makes you say that?” Aahna asks.

“Well, I don’t know. I kinda miss it. And I know that’s wrong to say. I shouldn’t miss feeling so depressed that I couldn’t really think about anything but feeling depressed. But it was kinda like a break. Now I still get depressed, but I can’t relax. My brain is constantly fighting it. Like part of my brain says ‘I want to die’ then another says ‘no I don’t’. It’s exhausting.”

“Nothing is wrong to say here Harry. And I don’t think it’s as uncommon as you think it is. You’ve been depressed on and off for years right?” Aahna asks, shifting her long black hair away from her face. Harry wonders if that’s how his hair would look if it was waist length. Black and curly, slightly more tamed than his current short mess. 

“Yeah. I can’t really tell when the first time was, it kinda feels like I’ve had it as long as I can remember. It used to be a lot different though, I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

“See Harry, here’s my theory. You say that when you’re really depressed your brain shuts down. You feel like you can’t think. I think that’s a defence mechanism. You never really learned how to deal with difficult thoughts or emotions in a healthy way, so you try to push them away. And doing that constantly takes a lot of effort. Then, when you’re too tired or it all catches up to you, you shut down. You don’t have to fight your emotions anymore, but you don’t really have to deal with them either. You just let them take over. Does it sound like I’m on to something?” says Aahna. 

“Yeah” Harry says, shifting in the increasingly uncomfortable chair. It always seems to grow more uncomfortable when they’re discussing a sensitive subject. “But if being super depressed is the only way I can relax, how will I ever beat it?”

Aahna doesn’t answer, and after a long silence Harry adds; “And what if I don’t want to beat it. I’m terrified of living without ever being able to relax, with every day being a battle. Just like I’m terrified to stop cutting permanently”

“That’s the thing Harry. I think maybe you believe recovery is about fighting off your feelings. Especially the ones that make you feel depressed” she says.

“Well isn’t it? How am I supposed to stop feeling depressed if I don’t fight my thoughts and feelings? They’re the reason I get depressed in the first place?” Harry says, feeling irritated. 

“Is it though? Or is fighting those thoughts or emotions what causes you to be depressed? I don’t want you to fight your emotions Harry, or your thoughts. I want you to fight depression” somehow Harry feels like Aahna has said something very important. He doesn’t understand it though.

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“I don’t think they are. You used to fight your emotions until you became depressed, then you’d relax in that depression and regroup. Now you know yourself enough to understand when you’re becoming depressed, so you fight that too.”

“So I need to stop fighting, is that what you’re saying?” Harry asks, somehow feeling like that is an impossible task. For him stopping the fight has always been synonymous with suicide. 

“Maybe fighting isn’t the right word. My goal here Harry is to help you deal with the emotions that builds up to become a depression when you supress them. You need to keep fighting the depression, but you need to stop fighting yourself.” Aahna says.

“So I need to, what? Get in touch with my emotions?” Harry asks. “Sometimes I feel like all I do is feel them, I feel them until they’re choking me. Other times I feel like I don’t have a single one. I don’t really know what’s worse, but the last is easier to deal with.”

Harry goes back to studying the small broom, avoiding Aahna’s eyes. Maybe that’s what she’s saying though. That when he actually feels something he doesn’t know how to deal. So he doesn’t, he pushes it away as hard as he can, with whatever means possible. That’s what cutting helps him do a lot of the time. He always thought that _was_ dealing with an emotion, but maybe he’s wrong?

“I have absolutely no idea how to go about dealing with an emotion” he says, figuring honesty is the best policy. He laughs a little, and finally meets Aahna’s eyes. 

“Maybe as a start you could try letting them linger a bit longer in our sessions. During the last year you have told me about heartache, suicidal thoughts, how much you hate yourself and a lot of painful thoughts and feelings. Yet I have never seen you cry. You smile, laugh and joke or seem entirely neutral to what you’re discussing.”

“Crying is a weakness. I don’t.. I feel like I can’t. And even if I could, it scares the shit out of me” Harry says.

“Do you consider other people weak when they cry?” Aahna asks.

“No, of course not” says Harry, offended she’d think so. 

“Then why are the rules for you so much stricter Harry? Why does it make you weak, but not others?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. I have no idea, it’s just like that. I know it makes no sense, that it’s all irrational. That’s why I try to push it off my mind. Not think about it. I don’t want to have irrational thoughts. I just want to be normal.” Harry says, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“What are you feeling right now Harry?” Aahna asks.

“Nothing, I don’t know.”

“From my perspective it looks like you might be frustrated or angry, am I correct in that?”

“I’m not angry with you” Harry hurries to say, horrified he might have insulted his therapist. “I just.. I guess I am frustrated. I’m frustrated that my brain isn’t working. That things that are just instinct or something to other people just feels so impossible for me.”

“And how would you deal with that emotion if you were alone right now?” Aahna says.

“Well anger isn’t that hard to deal with when it’s directed at myself. I can just cut. You know, like punish myself? I know it’s not healthy or anything, but it works.” Harry says, absently scratching at his arms. 

“Can you think of any other ways to deal with the emotion?”

“I guess I could distract myself. Like do something different, or talk to someone. Just put my mind off it. But apparently that isn’t dealing either, so I don’t know.”

“I think an alternative to harming yourself is always good, and sometimes distraction is a good thing.” Aahna says, taking a few notes on the block in her hands. 

“How do you propose I deal with it then?” Harry asks, itching on his arm just a little harder. 

“Talking is always good. Or writing. And I suppose if you’re angry you could try breaking things. I hear it’s very relieving, like throwing ice-cubes on the floor. It’s all about finding ways that work for you.”

Harry thinks there aren’t any ways that work for him, but he stays silent. There is no point ending up in a discussion where they both have vastly different starting points. Aahna thinks he can and will recover, he doesn’t. Not anymore. 

“I don’t even know why I’m still trying. I’m just so fucking tired, I have no idea what I’m doing. I feel like I’m just running in an endless circle around the very thing I’m running from.”

“Do you think you might try to kill yourself?” Aahna asks, like she’s asking what he wants for lunch. Harry supposes it’s a good thing she’s so calm about it. 

“No, I can’t. You know I can’t. I want to though.” Harry says, not meeting her eyes. There is a long silence, that Harry is reluctant to break. He feels guilty for feeling suicidal, and somehow like a coward for not going through with it.

“Well, I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for today Harry. Remember that I’m here every day if you need something.”

“Yeah, I know. Harry says, standing from the chair he’s been wanting to escape for the last hour and realising he doesn’t want to leave. He wants to sit right back down and refuse to leave until he’s better.

“I’ll see you next week then. Have a safe trip home.”

Harry exits the office, closing the door behind him. He stops to take a few deep breaths before putting his ‘game face’ back on and leaving. The February air outside is biting cold, and Harry realises at least he can feel that. “Feel my feelings” he mutters, halting his walk and just feeling the cold air. How it tugs at the small hairs in his nose, how it makes his glasses fog over. The tingling feeling in his hands as warm blood rushes into the cold fingers. He stands there for a while, just taking it all in. Then he apparates home. He doesn’t really know if the exercise did anything, it’s not like standing outside and just feeling the cold made him any warmer. If nothing else it’s at least making him appreciate the warmth of his flat more. He asks Kreacher for a cup of tea, and wraps his frozen fingers around the warm cup. Trying to feel in detail how the warmth slowly seeps in, until he’s feeling comfortably warm. Mentally exhausted from his therapy session Harry lays down on his couch and promptly falls asleep. 

A knock on the door wakes him a few hours later. Then the sharp pop of Kreacher appearing next to him startles him into a sitting position. He supposes he’ll never get quite used to that sound. 

“Mr. Weasley is here” the elf says, making a grimace at the way he’s been told to refer to Ron. 

“Oh, fuck, I forgot. Could you let him in please? And do we have any tea and biscuits?” Harry asks, attempting to fix his hair so it doesn’t look like he just woke up. It’s pretty much a futile attempt, but the action calms him down a little. Kreacher simply disappears with another pop, and seconds later Harry hears the door open.

“Hello mate” Ron calls from the hallway, presumably taking off his winter coat. “Ready to listen to the match?”

“Yeah” Harry answers, stifling a yawn.

“You all right? You look kinda wrecked.” Ron asks, seeing Harry as he enters the room.

“I’m ok. Just a bit tired. I have to learn that therapy sessions knock me out for the rest of the day.” Harry says, feeling like he can almost talk casually about his therapy now. 

“Pretty sure having your brain poked at would make anyone sleepy. How’s that er..” Ron hesitates. “How’s that going anyways?”

“I don’t even know if I’m honest. She wants me to deal with my emotions instead of fighting them off. I suppose she has a point, but how do you even do that?” Harry means the question to be rhetorical, but he finds himself looking at Ron for an answer anyways. 

“Uhm, you do realise you’re asking the guy with the ‘emotional range of a teaspoon’ yeah?” Ron asks, making his voice higher to mimic his girlfriend. He only laughs a little before answering though. “I don’t really know, to be honest. For me it isn’t always so much dealing with an emotion as just, acknowledging it’s there. Like when Hermione told me she was pregnant, I was terrified! But I kinda just let myself be terrified for a while, and then I tried to figure out what made me so terrified. And I mean, I’m still shit scared, but I don’t think about it all the time. This is really hard to explain mate, I don’t know how you sit for over an hour a week just talking about your brain and stuff.”

“Ok so, like, dealing with an emotion means just feeling it?” Harry asks, wondering how the hell he’s going to survive that.

“I think so, just.. feeling it until it’s not so big and scary anymore” Ron says, awkwardly scratching his head. 

“Thanks mate.” Harry says, then deciding to save both Ron and himself from the awkward conversation he’s gotten them into “turn on the radio yeah? I think the match starts soon.”

The Cannons doesn’t win the match, much to Ron’s disappointment, but to nobody’s surprise. Harry spends the match trying to not immediately shut down or supress thoughts or feelings that come flying into his brain. Some he can hold on to, consider for a few minutes before he lets it go. Others are too big, too painful. He pushes those away immediately. 

“Thanks for the game. Too bad we lost.” Ron says, standing from the couch. 

“Yeah” Harry says “I thought we almost had this one.” He hadn’t thought so of course, but he supposes a little white lie can only help at this point. 

“I should be getting back home though. I don’t like leaving Hermione alone for too long in her state.” A look of panic shoots over Ron’s face “don’t tell her I said that, she’d boil me alive.”

“Pregnancy hormones still racing then?” Harry laughs. When he’d visited Hermione a few days earlier she had been huge, and absolutely furious. From what Harry could gather she was mad at Ron for insisting on carrying the groceries. And she was mad that she was mad, because they all knew she shouldn’t be carrying the heavy bags. 

“Yeah” Ron says, then smiles “she’s carrying my child though. I think putting up with her hormones is the least I can do. I’m not the one having them in my body after all”

“True that.” Harry says, standing to give Ron a hug goodbye. “Send her my love, will you?”

“Course mate. You’re still coming over on Sunday right?”

“Yeah, I’ll bring some take-out. Save you from cooking, or save us all from Hermione’s food.” Harry says, laughing.

Sunday arrives fast. Harry supposes it’s something to do with the fact that he’s not actually doing anything with his days. He’s supposed to be studying for his NEWT exams, but mostly he just sleeps, reads and watch the telly Hermione helped him install. 

“Harry!” Hermione greets him, pulling him into a hug that Harry thinks should be impossible given the size of his friend’s belly. Of course even he isn’t foolish enough to mention that. 

“Hi ‘Mione. I brought Indian.” He says, holding out his bags. He had to make sure he didn’t get anything too spicy for his friend, because the last time he’d done that she’d burst into tears, muttering about how spicy food was bad for the baby. Apparently she remembers too, because he can see tears glistening in her eyes.

“Not to worry, I got you some mild butter chicken. The lady at the restaurant said it would be ok.” Harry hurries to add.

“You actually asked them what to get a pregnant woman, didn’t you?” Hermione asks, laughing.

“Well yeah, I didn’t want to mess up again. And besides she was like seventy years old, and she says she’s got five kids so I guess she’d know right?”

“Butter chicken is fine mate” Ron says, looking up from the telly. “She’s just winding you up I think.”

“Oh Ron, don’t spoil my fun.” Hermione says, twinkle in her eyes.

“You have a weird sense of what’s fun ‘Mione.” Says Harry, “let’s eat before it gets all cold and gross”

After Harry left Hogwarts Sunday dinner at Ron and Hermione’s place had become sort of a thing. Harry wasn’t really complaining. With that and his therapy he had something consistent to do each week. He knows having nothing at all he has to do is bad, because then he just lays in bed all the time not even noticing how the time passes. He isn’t really that up for it all the time either though. If he’s in a bad period just getting out of bed is a struggle, never mind getting ready for and attending dinner. His friends seem to understand though. If he calls to cancel they’ll usually just show up at his flat with takeout and no expectations for him to do anything besides being present. It helps more than Harry could ever explain to them, or himself when he’s down. When he’s down he’s usually just annoyed they’re there at all. 

“So Harry.” Hermione says, swallowing a piece of her pregnancy-safe butter chicken. “Easter isn’t too far off. Draco still coming to stay at your place?”

Harry groans. This is the downside to Sunday dinners; Hermione always asks about Draco. And he never knows what to answer. 

“I don’t know. I think so. I mean, we arranged it. And he hasn’t said he changed his plans. We haven’t really talked about it in a while though.” Harry says. He’s been trying not to think too much about it. 

“Well do you want him to?” Hermione asks.

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know?” Harry says. Because he does want Draco to come, but he also doesn’t maybe. The thought of Draco coming just brings up thoughts and feelings he doesn’t know how to deal with so he tries to push it off. 

“Harry. Just, try not pushing it away yeah? Every time you talk about him you get this look in your eyes, and then you close them and when they open again it’s like they’re empty. You’re pushing whatever you’re feeling away.” Ron says. Harry and Hermine both turn to stare at him. Harry will forever curse auror training for making his friend so damn observant. 

“I know I’m pushing it away. I have to. Whenever I think about it it just.. hurts. And it’s confusing and it doesn’t make any sense. It’s like, I don’t know. I want him to come. I just, it doesn’t feel like enough. I feel like he’s so far away.”

“Then why do you keep pushing him away?” Ron asks, and Harry doesn’t even remember telling his friend he did push Draco away. Damn auror training and emotional radar or whatever it is his friend has. 

“Because I don’t deserve him.” Harry says, but he allows the feeling to linger, or maybe he just isn’t able to push it away when Ron is piercing him with that gaze. “And.. well if I let myself want him. If I open myself up to that, and he doesn’t feel the same way.. I’m not sure I could handle it. He said he had feelings for me once, did I tell you? But that was over a year ago. I’m sure it’s passed for him.”

“Oh Harry, what if it didn’t though?” Hermione asks. 

“Then I don’t know how to deal with that either. See, if I let myself want him, and even have him, then that’s me admitting I have a worth isn’t it? It’s saying it’s ok for me to take up space in the world and I don’t want that. He makes me feel like I’m worth something, and that scares the shit out of me.” Harry says, flushing with embarrassment at his words. Therapy will do that apparently, just make you talk without thinking at times, even when it’s inappropriate. 

“Why does having worth scare you so much?” Hermione asks.

“Because I don’t feel like I deserve it. Or at least.. I feel like I shouldn’t feel like I deserve it. It’s like the sick and healthy parts of my brain are fighting like hell, and neither side is winning or losing. It’s just leaving me exhausted. And that’s another thing. I’ll always be like this. I can’t subject him to that.” Harry says, fighting of the tears that has suddenly decided to make an appearance. 

“Here is the thing though Harry. I think that should be his choice. You feel what you feel, and the way I see it you have two choices. Tell him, or don’t tell him. I think you deserve, and owe it to yourself to tell him the truth. And I think he deserves the right to make the choice for himself.” Ron says. “It isn’t your job to save him. It’s not your job to save anyone besides yourself. Make choices because they are right for you, and let others do the same. Trust others to do the same.”

“That’s a really good point Ron” Hermione says. “You tried to push us away for a long time Harry. But we choose to be your friends. Not because we feel like we have to, but because we want to. Because we like having you in our lives. You have your bad stuff, but we all do. Just look how Ron’s been putting up with my hormones lately. It’s not something we do despite your depression. It’s something we do because we love you. I’m glad you let us make that choice Harry, I’m sure Draco will be too.”

“I have to go.” Harry says, getting up. “I’m sorry. You’re both being brilliant. It’s just.. a little much right now. And I need to think it through. All of it.”

“All right” Hermione says, “promise you won’t hurt yourself.”

Harry grimaces, it’s not the first time Hermione has asked him this. Ever since she found out about his cutting she’s been telling him not to do it.

“I don’t do it that much anymore Hermione, but I won’t promise not to. I can’t. Sorry. I won’t lie to you, and I don’t know if I can resist it all the time yet. I’ll try though.”


	14. Asking

The floorboards creek as Harry paces back and forth between the bedroom door and the kitchen table. Except maybe it isn’t pacing, and it’s more like running away. It all started when he read the letter from Draco. It hadn’t been a very long letter, and it hadn’t said that much, but with the conversation Harry had had with Ron and Hermione fresh in his mind it had still triggered something. Picking up the letter Harry reads it again;  
_Dear Harry, I hope you are doing well. (And yes that is me asking how you’re holding up, stop avoiding the question). Your last letter was much appreciated, as it brought me laughter on an otherwise dreadfully boring day of studying. However, I am not, as you said, overly formal in letters, on the contrary I am horribly informal in parentheses (you arse). I look forward to my visit this Easter, if the invitation still stands (I hope it does, I’ve bought candy enough for a small town)._  
Sincerely,  
Draco. (See I’m perfectly capable of leaving off my last name thank you)

Smiling Harry places the letter back on the table, only to groan as he tries to think of a reply. Then he enters his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Cursing under his breath Harry sits on his bed and pulls out the box containing his blades and bandages from his bedside table. He just needs to be able to calm his mind and focus so he can actually make a decision on what to do, what to say. Because a lot can be said of gryffindor courage, but Harry knows there is no chance of him being able to talk to Draco about _feelings_ and shit in person. So if he’s going to do it, it has to be in a letter. And it has to be this letter, or it won’t get to Draco before Easter. Harry jumps as he accidentally cuts himself on the blade he’s been absentmindedly twirling in his fingers. Glad that nobody is around to watch him as he tries to curse and stick his finger in his mouth at the same time Harry tosses the offending blade across the room. 

“Fuck!” Harry screams, grabbing the whole box and throwing it into the closest wall. He doesn’t want this thing with Draco, if it ever becomes a thing, to be tainted by his self-harm. He doesn’t want to remember back to when he first opened up and remember cutting himself to be able to do it. Instead he pulls out his journal, hoping he can write some sense into himself. He doesn’t know how long he writes, but he does it without thinking, pen working furiously up and down the pages. When his hand finally cramps from grabbing the pen to hard Harry looks down at his words. One paragraph jumps out at him, and he doesn’t know if it makes much sense, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

_Maybe I do deserve love, maybe I don’t. Maybe love isn’t something you can deserve, just something you cherish when someone decides to give it. All I know is Draco deserves honesty, and the truth is that I love him. I love him, and I can live without him if I have to. That has to be a sign it’s healthy right? I refuse to put my life in is hands, and I refuse to put my recovery in them too. I will put my love there though, because that is already his, even if he doesn’t know it yet._

“Shitting fuck” Harry mutters, crumpling up his seventh letter and throwing it to the side. As it turns out, deciding to write a letter doesn’t make it any easier to actually write it. 

“Kreacher!” he says, sitting up straight in his chair and smiling at his own brilliance. 

“Yes” the elf says, and Harry is startled at the lack of a pop as the elf appears.

“How come you didn’t make that popping sound right now?” he asks, lifting a hand to scratch at his messy hair.

“Kreacher was in the kitchen when master did the calling for him. Preparing dinner for his master Harry.”

“Right, I’m sorry. I didn’t even notice you were in here” Harry says, wondering if he’s really that unobservant. 

“Master is being distracted” the elf says by explanation, reminding Harry why he called him in the first place. 

“Yeah, I was wondering if there is a book on pureblood dating or courting or something in the black libraries?” he asks, blushing. 

“No books no” Kreacher says, “is master Harry wanting to court Master Draco?”

“How did you kno-, actually don’t answer that. Yes, I am” Harry says.

“If Kreacher might be bold?” the elf asks. After waiting a while Harry realises Kreacher won’t continue until he’s actually given permission to do so, and he quickly nods to the elf. 

“In Kreachers living when a wizard is wanting to court someone he asks the someone to go on a date” 

Harry can’t help it, he laughs. Because it’s just so brilliantly simple. He won’t have to go into depth about how he feels, or explain that he doesn’t just expect to jump from friends to boyfriends in a second. He can just, ask Draco on a date. 

“Merlin I’m an idiot. Thank you Kreacher, you’re brilliant”. Harry is awarded a rare smile from the elf before he straightens his ears and turns back to his cooking. 

_Draco, I wish I could say I woke up this morning and everything was fine. That the ten hours of sleep I got left me well rested so I could appreciate the sunshine or something like that. The fact of the matter is that I don’t even know what the weather is outside, because even though I’m recovering I still live a lot of my life inside my head, trying to figure it all out. I know all this seems really out of the blue, but just stick with me for a second. See, one of the things I’ve been thinking about a lot is us, and that time we slept together. And how I reacted. I pushed you away because I was terrified, terrified of you and my emotions and that I wouldn’t be a good enough boyfriend for you. And I know you said you wouldn’t start a relationship while in Hogwarts anyways, but I just wanted to tell you why I acted the way I did. Like I said, I am recovering, but I’m not well. I don’t think I’ll ever be done recovering, and I feel like you deserve to know that before deciding what to answer the question I’m about to ask._

_Draco, will you go out on a date with me?_

_Just so you know, you don’t have to say yes. If you don’t want to it won’t fuck up our friendship or my mental health or anything. I mean, I hope you’ll want to, but I and we will be ok if you don’t. I’m looking forward to both your visit and all the candy you promised._

_See you soon, Harry._

_P.S. You are still very formal in your letters, but I do appreciate the parenthesises._

Staring at the letter Harry allows himself to daydream about how Draco still has feelings for him, about how he’d lay in bed next to Harry on his bad days and just be there. How they’d have brilliant sex on his good days. How they’d sit next to each other and read, feet intertwined on the sofa. When he sends the letter and Draco rejects him, he won’t be able to indulge in those fantasies anymore. If Draco turns him down of course. Harry really hopes he won’t, but he still has issues hoping. And even more issues with admitting to wanting or needing anything. Mostly because that feels like he’s admitting to feeling like he has any worth. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it Harry asks Kreacher to send the letter when he’s done making dinner. 

Deciding his head is still too much of a mess Harry heads for the kitchen and grabs a beer. He chugs half the bottle in one go and snorts as he imagines how his therapist would react if she could see how efficiently he’s ‘feeling his feelings’ right now. At some point he runs out of beer, so he starts drinking firewhisky. A decision he regrets immensely when he’s woken up the next day by the fact that he’s vomiting. 

Kreacher pops in beside him, and Harry feels a bit like murdering the noisy elf until he sees the hangover potion held out for him. Then he feels like kissing him, well he does until the thought brings about another wave of nausea. 

“Thanks” he manages, before he has to shut his mouth again. Harry takes the offered potion and swallows the bottle, trying to ignore the taste. Then he lays back down on the side of the bed not covered in sick and waits for the potion to start working. His nausea fades first, before the potion has time to work on his headache though Harry sits up straight in bed, remembering that he actually asked Draco out on a date. 

“Master Harry is going to be late for his appointment for therapy” Kreacher informs him. Harry curses and considers using a cleaning charm to get the vomit off himself. A quick sniff of himself however makes him decide that no, a cleaning charm will not suffice. 

He makes it to his appointment just in time, hair still wet from the quick shower. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” Harry says, even though he knows he isn’t really. Better safe than sorry he figures. 

“Hi Harry, you’re just on time actually. How have you been this week?” Aahna asks him.

Harry feels like groaning, she asks the same question every week and he never knows how to answer her. He can’t say he’s had a good week, because then he shouldn’t be needing a therapist. But he can’t say it’s been shit either, because that will just sound like he’s whining. So he does what he always does and tries to think of something he’s done that they can talk about instead. When he thinks about it he figures it’s probably another therapy trick or something.

“Well” he says, “I sent Draco a letter last night. Asked him out on a date.” 

“And how do you feel about that?” Aahna asks, making a quick note in her book. 

“Well right after I freaked out and got drunk. And after that I haven’t had much time to think about it before right now.” Harry says, reminding himself, like he always has to, that therapy won’t help if he isn’t actually telling the truth about what he’s thinking and doing. “I’m feeling a lot I guess. Like, nervous of course, and hopeful, and like I’m a piece of shit for even thinking he might want to.”

“You feel like hoping he might go on a date with you makes you a piece of shit?”  
“Yeah” Harry says. “Like I’m giving myself more worth than I have, you know? 

“And how much worth do you feel like you have?” Aahna says.

“Well, rationally I like to think that everyone has worth just for being. Like, everyone is born worth something and you have to like rape or kill people to make that disappear. But then emotionally I feel like I don’t deserve to be worth something I guess. But I think maybe I feel like I am?” Harry says, making the last statement a question because saying it straight feels too wrong. He looks around the office for the small broom, and settles on the clock when he realises it isn’t there. 

“What makes you think you don’t deserve to be worth something?” Aahna asks, leaning to the side to attempt making eye contact with Harry. 

“I guess it’s just how I grew up. I was always told I wasn’t worth things or that I didn’t deserve anything. And then I got to Hogwarts and things were different, but still people told me I didn’t deserve what I had, because I only got it for being famous or something. And back then I didn’t think anything of it, because I agreed you know? But I mean, I was just a kid. I don’t know” Harry says, trailing off. Maybe he had deserved better, he knows no kids should have to grow up like that. Feeling unloved and worthless. He finally looks up at Aahna and to his horror she’s crying. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. It’s fine, I’m fine” he say, trying to make it right. 

“Harry, that sounds like an incredibly sad way to grow up and it makes me sad to hear it. But my emotions are my responsibility, I can handle hearing whatever you tell me.” Aahna says, voice somehow perfectly clear. 

“I just, I don’t want to make you feel bad” Harry says, trying to explain. 

“Harry, I know you don’t like talking about how things were for you growing up. But I know enough to know it wasn’t good, and that makes me sad. Is that uncomfortable for you to hear?” Aahna asks. 

“Well yeah, I just. I don’t like making people sad, but also it’s like... I’m not used to getting like sympathy or whatever. It just, it feels weird.” Harry says, finally tearing his gaze away from his therapist’s tears and placing it on his hands instead. 

“It appears to me that you have trouble accepting anything from others that might probe they care about you, am I right?”

“Yeah I guess. I just feel like maybe accepting it means I think I deserve it. And thinking I deserve things scares the shit out of me.” Harry says.

“What is the worst that can happen if you think you deserve something, or say it out loud even?” Ahna asks. 

“I don’t know” Harry says, raking his fingers through his hair. “People might be mad that I’m acting all entitled, or just laugh at me, or I might say I deserve it and then get dependent only to have them take it away.”

“Do you really believe the people in your life would do that to you?”

“Of course not! Not on purpose. I don’t know. I know it doesn’t make any sense. I know they aren’t mean, they’re way to good and kind for their own good. But I’m still just scared.” Harry says.

“If most of your experiences with needing things or asking for them, or feeling like you deserve something has been met with anger or ridicule it’s no wonder you feel the way you do Harry.” Aahna says. “But I do believe the best way to make that fear you’re feeling go away is to make some new experiences, and that includes asking for things. Or needing things. You don’t have to feel like you deserve it right away, because changing feelings takes time. But if you can manage to ask for something, or even refuse to give something if you don’t want to I believe that would be a step in the right direction”

“So I should ask for things more often?” Harry asks, voice shaking slightly. 

“Yes, it doesn’t have to be something big. Maybe start by asking a friend for something small, like help with buying something or making a small decision. Just start small and make experiences that it’s met in a good way.”

“I think I can do that” Harry says, “maybe”. 

Two days later Harry fire-calls Hermione. Asking her to help him do some shopping. Mostly because it was what his therapist suggested, but also because he probably does need some new clothes and he has no idea what will look good. He doesn’t really know what he expected to happen, but he’s relieved when Hermione just smiles brightly and says she’d love to, and that she’s been wanting to buy some more baby clothes and invites him to shopping on Oxford street later that afternoon. 

“So you sent Draco an owl asking him on a date?” Hermione asks, pulling out her wand to cast a lightening charm on her bags when no one is looking at them. She doesn’t seem too surprised, and Harry supposes she knew he would do something like it all along.

“Yeah, I didn’t have the guts to ask him in person. Now it’s just agony waiting for him to respond though. And even if he does respond the owl will probably get here after he does anyways. Ugh” Harry groans, “it’s all too awkward.”

“I mean, it could have been worse. Remember when you tried to ask Cho to the ball?” Hermione says, laughing at the memory. Harry just closes his eyes, trying to stop his mind from replaying the ‘wouldyouliketogototheballwithme?’ fiasco. He has to admit it is a bit funny though.

“Ron was worse” he says in his own defence. “Didn’t he try to ask you out by pointing out you were a girl? And then that debacle with Fleur.” Remembering Ron’s failiure to ask people out makes Harry feel a bit better about his own situation and he actually laughs out loud. “That was terrible”.

“Oh, don’t remind me” Hermione says, grabbing Harry’s hand and pulling him into a nearby store by force. 

Harry ends up trying on more clothes in one evening than he feels like he has his entire life. And he ends up actually buying quite a lot of them as well. When he has more clothes than he will be able to fit in his closets and Hermione has enough clothing to dress her baby a new outfit every day for months they finally head home. On their way to the nearest apparition point though Harry notices a tattoo parlour.

“I’ve been wanting to get another tattoo” he says, looking at Hermione to gauge her reaction.

“What of?” She asks, face perfectly neutral.

“I don’t really know if I’m honest. I just, I want to add something to my body that’s pretty for once.” Harry says. Feeling suddenly ashamed at his honesty he avoids Hermione’s eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m so like nervous about it. I add permanent marks to my body a lot, and they’re all ugly.” 

“Well, a tattoo is supposed to be something you like. So just getting one just because might not feel like the thing you want. And if I know you, I’m pretty sure you don’t just want it to be pretty, you want it to have meaning too.” Hermione says, somehow managing to surprise Harry with her knowledge. Again.  
“So you wouldn’t mind if I got more?” Harry asks, biting his bottom lip. 

“It’s your body Harry. As long as you don’t get something awful like Voldemort’s face or a cloud to match the scar on your forehead I’m happy. Just get something you like.” Hermione says, smiling. “You deserve to have some permanent marks that represent something good too.” She continues. Harry feels it’s time to end the conversation when she starts tearing up. He thanks both Merlin and Morgana for the fact that he and his potential partner will never have to go through a pregnancy. Then he curses for only imagining Draco as his partner. He’s in deep, he realises. 

“Holy fuck Hermione what if he says yes?” Harry asks, suddenly terrified at the prospect.

“Then you’ll take him out on a date” Hermione says, smiling smugly as if she knows that wasn’t the answer Harry was looking for. 

“But how? I’ve only ever gone out with Cho and that was a bloody disaster. I’ve no idea how to date someone!” 

It takes several promises of tea and help with date planning the following day to calm Harry down enough to actually apparate home. He’s pleased with the day though. He asked for help, with two things now that he thinks about it, and it had gone ok. Hermione hadn’t seemed annoyed, though part of Harry seems insistent on arguing that she’d only gone with him because she was too nice for her own damn good. He pushes that part down though, and starts the task of sorting through his closet. Finally throwing away all the awful clothing he’s inherited or ruined in some sort of fight over the years. 

He’s startled at the knock on the door. Or, Harry supposes, knocks or hammering is more correct. He only knows one person who knocks like that, but it can’t be him. He won’t be here for another two days. The knocking doesn’t let up though, so Harry goes to see who actually is at his door.

He doesn’t make it there before his over-enthusiastic elf does. Exclaiming his joy that his Master Draco is home again. Harry freezes in the living room, Draco is here, here! Harry isn’t ready. He hasn’t prepared himself for an answer at all, whatever it might be. Maybe Draco is angry, it had sounded like an angry knock. Maybe he got the owl and was so offended that Harry even asked that he had to come straight away to punch him on the nose. Harry’s half decided to go hide in his wardrobe with his new clothes when Draco enters the room. 

“You’re early” he says, mostly just for something to say as he doesn’t even have the guts to look at the boy standing in front of him.

“Yes” Draco says, almost in a whisper.

“By two days” Harry says, not sure what else he’s supposed to say. Did Draco even get his owl before coming here?

“Yes” Draco says again, voice a bit louder this time. 

“Why?” Harry asks, bewildered. It’s not like Draco to speak in one word sentences. Harry rubs at one of the old scars on his wrist, still avoiding looking at Draco. 

“Yes” says Draco once again, and Harry looks up feeling annoyed. He hadn’t asked a yes or no question. As soon as he catches sight of Draco though, his annoyance disappears. Draco is smiling, that smile Harry hasn’t seen on him since that Christmas. The Christmas they had sex. And Draco had said yes, it’s all he’d said since he walked in.

“Yes?” Harry askes, a smile starting to form on his face.

“Yes.” Draco says, grinning and Harry can’t help but grin right back.


	15. Not a home

_“The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don’t always spoil the good things and make them unimportant.”  
-Dr. Who  
_

Draco goes back to Hogwarts that night, not because either of them really wants him to, but because he actually does have classes for two more days. Harry falls asleep smiling that night, and the next morning finds Harry just sitting in his sofa smiling stupidly at the wall that has decided to turn pastel yellow, orange and pink to suit his mood. The word yes seems to be ringing in his head, repeating over and over and over, along with the stupid grins he and Draco had shared before it got a bit awkward. Of course the ‘automatic negative thoughts’ as his therapist likes to call them pop up once in a while, adding a slight sprinkling of grey and dark blue to his wall. Somehow Harry doesn’t mind as much though. The wall still looks pretty, he thinks, and he’s still happy. It occurs to him for the first time that being happy and being depressed might not actually be opposites. In a sense it is of course, because when he’s in a full depressive episode happiness isn’t even in his vocabulary. But as it is right now, he’s a person with a depressive disorder. A person who feels it and fights it every day, and is still happy. Part of him always figured that if he’d always be fighting depression, always have the diagnosis he couldn’t be happy. Or feel much of anything besides the depression, the boredom and anger and crushing reality that he’ll never be _enough_. But here he is, happy, despite the fact that his depression is knocking at the mental door inside his head asking to be let in. 

“My brain is complicated as fuck” he tells his wall. It shifts in response, turning into something Harry thinks resembles abstract watercolours in soft purples and blues. Harry isn’t really sure what the wall is trying to say, but he finds the soft colours comforting. He likes his wall he decides, turning his head to survey the rest of the living room. He doesn’t particularly like that. Or his kitchen when he thinks about it. And his bedroom is a little dark most of the time too. And it’s not just his anymore is it, it’s Draco’s too. And despite Kreacher doing his very best to fix the place up he really can’t make up for the loud neighbours, the leaking pipe in the bathroom or the fact that the flat only has the one bedroom. Not that Harry really minds sharing a bedroom with Draco, but he thinks it might be a bit inappropriate when they haven’t even gone on a date. Harry wants to do this the right way, not just start dating and sleeping in the same room on the same day. And it’s one thing for the Easter holidays, but Draco will finish Hogwarts this summer, and Harry refuses to leave him homeless or in a really awkward living/dating situation when he does. 

Harry starts to consider where Draco might like to live, but then he stops. Yes, Draco is important, and Harry will take him into consideration. But, maybe, he thinks, scrunching up his face with the effort of it all, it’s time to consider what _he_ would like. He’s never really considered where he’d like to live before, he’s only ever decided where he doesn’t want to live. Somehow thinking in negatives is easier than positives. Like the fact that he hates the dark and damp Grimmauld place, and he wants to live somewhere open and bright. Being cramped just reminds him of his cupboard under the stairs at Privet Drive. He doesn’t want something that resembles that either, preferably not somewhere in a suburban area where all of the houses and people look the same and the neighbours’ best pastime is stretching their necks to spy on each other. He tries to think about what he’s been missing living in this flat, or what he might miss. A garden springs to mind almost immediately, somewhere quiet where he can make an attempt to grow plants or just read. And he wants a better kitchen, a cosy one with more space and just general warmth. He swears he’s heard Molly say the kitchen is the heart of the home, and he can’t help but agree with her. A bathtub, he thinks, imagining spending long evenings just soaking in sweet scented water, then he decides he better make a list because now that he’s thinking about it there are actually a lot of thinks he imagines would be rather nice to have. Like windowsills so broad you can sit in them and look at the rain like he did at Hogwarts when he wasn’t able to sleep, or a library kind of room where he or Draco could read or study or just store their books. And he wants a living room and kitchen that’s big enough for him to actually have guests over, well more than two at a time anyways.

Draco had mentioned something about there being more houses in the Black heritage than just Grimmauld place, and that there probably was something in his Potter inheritance too. Harry knows he can afford a new place too, but something about a house that has housed a family he feels a connection to sounds nice. And Harry’s been in love with magic since he discovered it existed, he wants a place that’s clearly affected by it. Something like the Burrow, only his, a house that’s almost got a personality. A place that will learn to keep the doors of smaller rooms open when Harry’s in them, or that will make people he doesn’t like too much trip on the carpets. A house that has learned from other people that were there before him, and have interesting traits he can make up stories about. Like how one bedroom will never be completely dark, because it belonged to a child who was horribly afraid he was blind every time the lights went out.

“Kreacher?” Harry calls out, hoping his elf isn’t too busy. That’s another thing he supposes, there really isn’t a space for his elf in this house either.

“Yes Harry Potter sir” the elf says, popping into existence in front of Harry. 

“Uhm, I don’t really know if this is like, something you know anything about or anything. But, er, I think Draco mentioned something about how I probably own some property. He said there might be stuff both in the Potter and Black lines, would you know anything about that?” Harry asks, a little unsure if he’s going way beyond what a house elf’s responsibilities actually are with this. 

“Yes Mr. Harry Potter sir, Kreacher does know of all the Black properties. And he will visit the goblins tomorrow sir, to get a lists. Of the Potter and Black properties if Harry Potter wishes.” Kreacher says, pulling on his ears and smiling again. Harry figures he must have done something right by asking the elf.

“Would you? I don’t really know if it’s part of your, er, job, to do that.”

“It is, it is Kreachers responsibility” the elf says, nodding fiercely. He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, then closes it, then opens it again and proceeds to put his hand in it and bite down hard. 

“Kreacher, please don’t hurt yourself!” Harry says hurriedly, “Was there anything you wanted to say? I give you permanent permission to say or ask whatever you like, and that includes telling me when I’m being stupid.” When Kreacher stops biting his own hand Harry sits down again, not really noticing having stood up in the first place. 

“Kreacher was hoping, that maybe Mr. Harry Potter is wanting to live in a more suitable place? A wizarding home perhaps?” the elf says, twisting his ears in a way Harry really hopes isn’t painful.

“I was thinking I wanted exactly that actually” Harry says, smiling fondly at his elf. Kreacher seems overjoyed, or Harry at least thinks that’s what the sudden outburst in tears means. 

“Kreacher, from now on, if you’re unhappy with something, like where we’re living or your, er, job” Harry says, hesitating over the word again “I’d really like you to tell me. I don’t know much about house elves or, well, the wizarding world outside of Hogwarts, so it would be great if you tell me when I’m doing something weird.” Harry hopes making the request a favour to him will make it easier for the elf to actually speak up. He hates that Kreacher has probably been as miserable as Harry has in this flat. 

“Yes Kreacher will help Harry Potter sir, thank you, you is too kind. And Kreacher will meet with goblins first thing in the tomorrow sir.”

“Thanks Kreacher” Harry says, “that’s a big help”. He’s glad when the elf understands it as a dismissal. It’s not that Harry minds so much talking to his elf, it’s just that, well he does a bit. It still feels a bit off to him, and he thinks both he and Kreacher will be happier when Draco is around to take care of actually giving the elf instructions on things to do. He still has to do something about this bedroom situation though, because he knows that even though magic can work miracles it won’t help him move in a day. He wonders if it’s possible to add in a room, or build a couple walls in the living room. Magic might be able to do that, he’s pretty sure the Burrow is built and expanded a million times over that way. He could ask Ron, or maybe Fred and George. Hell, he could ask all three of them, his therapist would be happy. It’s just that asking for help terrifies him today. It had been ok with Hermione, and he knows Fred, George and Ron would be happy to help. Before he can think too much about it he decides, fuck it, and throws some floo powder into his fireplace. His therapist asked him to ask for help, and she probably meant he should do it when it felt hard. 

“Weasleys Wizard Wieners” he says, smiling at the floo address Fred and George decided upon for their flat. He sticks his head in and is greeted by the sight of the twins with their heads over a cauldron that’s giving off a lime green smoke. 

“What the hell is that?” Harry says as soon as the smell from the cauldron hits him. It smells like a mix of rotten fish, ginger and lemons. Harry doesn’t understand how something can smell so vile and good at the same time. 

“We’ve been trying to make reverse-amortentia” Fred says, grinning at Harry through the smoke. 

“Not really working out too well though” George adds, screwing up his nose at the smell.

“Reverse-amortentia?” Harry asks, wondering if he should just pull his head out of the fire and call back after the scent is gone. The smell just seems to be growing worse by the second, making Harry’s eyes sting. 

“Yeah, thought it would be funny to make people hate someone you know? Instead of love them” George says, sighing in relief as Fred waves his wand to vanish the smoke. 

Harry actually doesn’t think that would be very funny at all. He knows what it feels like to be hated by someone who’s supposed to love you and he knows it feels like shit. Maybe it would have been easier if he could blame the way the Dursleys felt about him on a potion, but he’s pretty sure the experience wouldn’t have been pleasant either way. 

“Honestly?” he says, “I think you should put this idea on the shelf. There’s enough hate out there already.”

“Yeah, you’re right” Fred says, to Harry’s relief. He doesn’t like disagreeing with people, especially not people he likes.

“So to what do we owe the pleasure?” 

“Uhm, well I was kinda hoping you could help me with something” Harry says.

Thirty minutes later Harry’s flat is invaded by three excited red-heads carrying all sorts of tools. Harry had been confused at first, thinking they would just use magic to put up an extra wall. Ron had explained to him that although they could, Arthur had insisted his muggle instruments be put to use when he heard what his sons were doing. 

“You really should go see them you know?” Ron says when the twins are off deciding where they can make room for another bedroom.

“Who?” Harry says, distracted.

“Mum and dad. You haven’t been round much, and they worry about you a lot. I think mum has been itching to come over here with food every other day, and I’m pretty sure the only reason she hasn’t is because dad added you to the clock so they know you’re ok” Ron explains.

“The clock?” Harry asks, thinking Ron can’t possibly be talking about the family clock hanging at the Weasleys.

“The family clock” Ron says, rolling his eyes, “you’ve seen it, in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, but that’s for family?” Harry says, still confused. Why would they add him to the clock? From what he could tell even Hermione hadn’t been added to that clock.

“Merlin Harry, you are family. I’m pretty sure mum took one look at you back when we were, what, twelve? And decided this boy is my child now, I’m keeping him.” 

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that. He thinks some part of him has always known they care about him. But caring also means worrying and to some extent judging, so Harry has kept his distance, kept safe. It doesn’t look like Ron is waiting for an answer though.

“Anyway, me and Hermione and some of the others are going there for dinner tonight. I said I’d invite you over. Just know we all want you there if you want to go, yeah?”

Building a room by the use of magic takes a lot longer than Harry had imagined. The twins decided the easiest thing to do would be to move the wall between Harry’s bedroom and living room, making the living room smaller and the bedroom bigger, and then adding a wall inside the bedroom making it into two rather small bedrooms. Just moving the wall and adding an extra door takes all the time they have before dinner, but Harry is assured that the three brothers will be back the next day and help him finish building the wall to separate his bedroom. 

Dinner is a noisy affair consisting of worried parents, a huge Hermione, three tired brothers and a tired Harry. The food is Harry’s favourite though, and he can see Molly winking at him as she serves the dish. Harry leaves feeling loved and tired and like he’s had the best day he can remember having.

The next day Harry wakes up feeling confused at the size of his bedroom for a second, before remembering his current home renovations. He reaches over and grabs his wand on the bedside table to stop it from vibrating. The sound of it is so annoying Harry could be inclined to throw his wand across the room. And really, an alarm charm is clever, but Harry wonders at the apparent lack of people who simply break their own wand in two so they can go back to sleep. 

As it is, Harry doesn’t have time to go back to sleep. Fred, George and Ron are coming over after breakfast, and Harry wants some time to look over the lists Kreatcher will be fetching him from the bank. If the elf hasn’t already returned, he is scary efficient after all. After getting dressed and making his way to the kitchen Harry realises he was right. On the table lies two pieces of Gringotts envelopes, next to a cup of steaming coffee and a plate of buttered toast. 

“Kreatcher, you’re brilliant!” Harry says into thin air, hoping his elf will hear him. 

Harry’s coffee goes cold waiting for him to open his letters, and Harry is so distracted by staring at them that he doesn’t even notice Kreatcher replacing the cold cup with a new one. This is it, he thinks, everything I have left from Sirius and my parents, if there even is anything there. He opens the envelope with the Black seal first, because it feels somehow safer, at least he knows there will be something inside. 

_Dear Mr. Harry Potter, heir to the Black estates; enclosed is a list detailing the estates passed to you from the departed Mr. Sirius Black as per your request. Please contact us should there be any questions. Best regards, Simon Bedinkle._

_1st estate:  
12 Grimmauld place, London. Townhouse.   
This house contains 4 floors, 7 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms, a kitchen, a dining room, a living room and an attic. Built in 1884 by muggles, renovated by wizards upon purchase. _

_2nd estate:  
Black Manor, Wiltshire. Family manor.   
This house contains: Master Suite with Main Bedroom, Second Bedroom/Dressing Room  
2 Bathrooms and Further Dressing Room, 7 Guest Bedrooms with 4 Bathrooms, 4 Further Bedrooms and 1 Bathroom, Children's Sitting Room, Linen and Trunk Room, Entrance and Staircase Hall, Billiard Room, Library, Drawing Room, Morning Room, Dining Room, Study, Kitchen/Breakfast Room, Cellars, Staff Sitting Room, Wand Room, Flower Room, Potions Room, Formal Gardens, Walled Garden, 3 Lakes, Laundry Cottage and Gardener's Cottage._

_3rd estate:_

_Black holiday home, Calais, France._

 

Harry stops reading at that point, he isn’t interested in the two houses in France or the one in Italy. He doesn’t know much, but he does know he wants to live in England. The black manor sounds more like a castle than it does a house, how on earth is he supposed to fill thirteen bedrooms? Harry knows he has to open the letter with the potential Potter estates. Maybe if he does it like a Band-Aid? Just rip it up as fast as possible. His coffee has gone cold again, but Harry takes a bite of his toast, postponing opening the letter for a little longer. A glance at his watch tells him he doesn’t have much time before the Weasleys will be here though, so he takes a deep breath and opens the letter. 

_Dear Mr. Harry Potter, heir to the Potter estates; enclosed is a list detailing the estates passed to you from the departed Mr. and Mrs. James and Lilly Potter, as per your request. Please contact us should there be any questions. Best regards, Simon Bedinkle_

_1st estate:  
25 Godrics Hollow, Cornwall. Plot.  
This plot doesn’t have a house as it was demolished in 1981 after an attack that ruined the home.   
2nd estate:  
Potter Manor, Yorkshire. Family manor.   
This house contains: Master Suite with Main Bedroom, 5 Bedrooms with 4 Bathrooms, Entrance and Staircase Hall, Library, Drawing Room, Morning Room, Dining Room, Study, Kitchen, Potions Room, Gardens, A lake and three cottages.   
3rd estate:  
Harry’s cottage, Wizmouth, Devon. Family home / vacation home.   
This house contains: Master bedroom with bathroom, 2 Bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, Kitchen, Living room, Office, Dining room, porch and gardens. This house was finished in 1980, but has never been in use. _

Harry doesn’t notice he’s crying until he realises he can’t read the words on the page anymore. Godric’s Hollow, that’s where he lived with his parents. Apparently, Voldemort ruined the whole house when he tried to kill Harry, but Harry fids he doesn’t care much. He wouldn’t want to live in the house where his parents were killed. And Potter manor must have been where his dad grew up, maybe he still has a bedroom there like Sirius did at Grimmauld Place. That had been enough for Harry, but when he’d seen the last estate the tears wouldn’t be held back any longer. 

Harry’s cottage. His parents had built him a house, or at least a place for them to go on vacations together. Maybe it could be a real home for Harry. A place to feel happy and loved and safe. And Molly would be happy too, Harry realises as he looks again at the location of the cottage. Wizmouth is just the next town over from Ottery St. Catchpole, so he wouldn’t be living too far away from the Burrow or Ron and Hermione’s new house. 

Harry doesn’t have more time to contemplate the matter, because someone knocks on his door, but can’t be bothered to wait for him to open it. Harry quickly dries the tears off his face and goes to greet Ron and the twins. They spend the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon constructing a wall inside Harry’s bedroom, and when they finish Harry can’t help but grin. It definitely looks home-made, but he thinks there might just be one more thing he actually likes about his apartment now. Harry feels a bit silly for proudly telling Kreatcher that he will be looking at some of his properties over the next week or so, but the grin on the elves’ face makes it worth it. Kreacher also seems overjoyed with the task of cleaning and decorating both of the new bedrooms. 

After sending Ron and the twins home with lots of thanks and promises of firewhisky Harry spends the rest of the evening planning the perfect date for the next day. He figures they’ll start the day off by going to the science museum, if nothing else Draco’s reactions to all the stuff there will give Harry a laugh. He owls a restaurant that’s gotten great reviews by the prophet to ask for a reservation and decides they’ll finish the night off by going to see a play or a movie at the cinema. Harry doesn’t really know what Draco will prefer, so he decides he’ll just wait and ask him before ordering any tickets. 

That night Harry falls asleep with a smile on his face for the third day in a row.


	16. Coming Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so late again. I was really dreading writing the ending of this story, and I really wasn't sure how I wanted to leave it. There is only the epilogue left now, and it's already written so it will be up soon. Also, I found the quote in the beginning of the chapter on tumblr, but I haven't been able to find out who wrote it. I'd really appreciate it if someone could let me know.

_People say you can't love someone unless you love yourself first. Bullshit. I have never loved myself, but you? Oh god, I loved you so much I forgot what hating myself felt like._

When Harry’s wand vibrates to wake him up the next day Harry doesn’t notice until it’s been half an hour and his wand has vibrated itself off his bedside table and onto the floor. Harry picks it up and places it back in its place without even opening his eyes. He’s tired. And it’s not from sleeping too little if the twelve hours of sleep he’s had is anything to go by. He’s just tired, tired from being too happy for too long. Tired from being social and active several days in a row. Tired from being depressed. And he has to get out of bed. Draco is coming home today, and Harry has to shower, clean, go grocery shopping and pick out something to wear. He has it all planned out. He was going to do it all before Draco came, so that he could be sitting casually on his sofa reading a book by the time Draco came home. 

Harry curses himself when he checks the time, he’s already slept away his “casually reading” time. Then again, it doesn’t really matter. Why would Draco even believe that Harry was just sitting there casually reading. Harry doesn’t do shit like that. Harry mopes, or stresses, or sleeps or does something stupid. The fact that Draco even wants to go out with him is a mystery, but he said he did, so Harry needs to get out of bed right now. Only he doesn’t. Over night, his bed has turned into the only safe place in the entire world, and leaving it is surly dangerous. And besides his duvet has grown so heavy he couldn’t lift it if he tried. 

I’m going to count to ten, and then I will get up, Harry thinks, and starts mentally counting. Before he reaches ten, he’s asleep again. Half an hour later he wakes up with a start when Kreacher drops something on the floor in the next room. It doesn’t feel like waking up though, it feels like fighting off fog with a flyswatter. Harry finds himself questioning if he’s even really awake. 

Get up, get up, get up, he tells himself over and over. He likes Draco, hell he loves Draco and he has to get up at get ready for their date. But depression doesn’t care that Harry loves Draco, depression doesn’t care that Harry has been busy for days trying to get everything ready. Depression doesn’t care about anything, and right now, neither does Harry. At least if he doesn’t care he doesn’t have to worry about the fact that Draco can’t possibly like him, or that it won’t last long if he actually does. He doesn’t have to worry that Draco will hate their date, or that Harry will be a terrible boyfriend. He doesn’t have to be anxious about looking ugly, or sounding stupid. Harry doesn’t have to worry about anything at all if he doesn’t care, at least that’s how it should work, and Harry wants to scream in anger that it doesn’t. Why can’t he be depressed in a way where he doesn’t give a fuck, or in a way where he’s able to do stuff despite his depression? Why did today have to be a day of ‘I’m too depressed to get out of bed, and the fact that I can’t makes me even more depressed and is also giving me anxiety’.

Harry is relieved when an hour later his bladder is screaming too loud to be ignored and he has to get up. He still has time to shower before Draco comes, and maybe he’ll be able to stay out of bed once he’s already up. Harry thinks making it into the shower shouldn’t feel like as much of a victory as it does, but after hours of being unable to leave the bed actually getting in the shower feels like a big fuck-you to his depression. 

“Congratu-fucking-lation” he says out loud, immediately feeling the need to patronise himself for feeling accomplishment over getting in the shower. Draco might be going out on a date with a walking corpse, but at least it’s a showered corpse, right? Feeling hysterical, Harry can’t stop himself from laughing. You knew this could happen, he tells himself. Draco knows it too, you both know you’re not alright all the time. He wishes he could have had at least the one date before everything went to shit though, that at least they could have had one perfect night. 

Harry does manage to finish his shower and pull on some clothes before Draco arrives. He isn’t sitting casually with a book when his date enters though, Harry is anything but casual. Somehow actually seeing Draco, windswept and dragging his school-trunk into the living room makes Harry feel even worse. Standing in front of him is the man he’s been in love with for years now, and he can’t even muster up the energy or happiness for a genuine smile. 

“Hey” Draco says, turning to grin at Harry, “that wall has moved, right?”

“Yeah” Harry says, trying to return the smile. He thinks he’s succeeded until he sees Draco’s face, full of worry and something else, disappointment? Sadness?

“You’re having a bad day?” Draco asks, and although it’s a question Harry thinks it’s pretty much a rhetorical one. 

“Sorry” is all Harry manages to say, and he’s horrified to hear his voice break. His emotions used to be locked up so tight he couldn’t access them if he wanted to, but now they’ve decided to make a living in his face and voice. 

“Ok” Draco says, collapsing in the sofa next to Harry. “Mind if I turn on the radio?”

“Ok?” Harry asks, confused. He’d thought Draco would be mad or upset at finding Harry in one of his ‘moods’.

“Yeah, ok. I mean, I think we’ve both been looking forward to our date today.” Draco says, suddenly looking nervous, “or, at least I hope we’ve both been looking forward to it. But I’ll be looking forward to it just as much if we do it tomorrow or in a week or whatever, whenever you’re feeling up to it.” 

“I’ve been looking forward to it as well!” Harry quickly reassures, “I made all these plans, and I don’t want to disappoint you. We can still go.” Harry wants to take the offer back as soon as he’s given it. He knows he could probably go, physically, but it wouldn’t be a very enjoyable date for either of them. 

“Harry, it’s ok. You already told me you aren’t cured, I know there will be bad days, and even though I hate that I can’t do anything to fix it at least I can accept it and be here for you. And I do, accept it I mean. And I’m here for you. Just use your strength to get through today, and we’ll see what tomorrow brings, ok?”

Harry wants to cry again. The feeling of just being accepted and supported despite being human trash who cancels their first date is beyond words. That isn’t why Harry wants to cry though, he wants to cry because he knows it should make him feel happy and grateful. He knows it should make him show gratitude and affection. But depression doesn’t care that Draco is being perfect and accepting, it doesn’t care that he’s one of the few people who doesn’t make Harry feel worse when he’s already down. All depression cares about is that Harry doesn’t have to deal with his date, all depression cares about is that Harry can finally just go back to bed. 

“You’re perfect, thank you” Harry says, manging a sad smile. “I think I just need to be alone for a while, I’m sorry. I’m sure Kreacher will fix you some food, and I, eerh,” Harry stops, suddenly feeling awkward, “I added a bedroom for you. Not that I don’t want to share, I just thought, maybe if we were dating it would be like, moving too fast or something? I’m sorry, my brain isn’t really working.”

“That’s a brilliant idea” Draco smiles, “and I’ll be fine. You go rest, and just find me if you want some company, yeah?”

Harry can hear the radio being turned on as he closes his bedroom door, and he sighs in relief, Draco will be ok and Harry can finally get back in bed. He knows it’s too early to sleep, but he hopes he’ll be able too, the level of tired he’s feeling now can’t possibly be normal. 

It’s his bladder that wakes him up early the next morning, and Harry makes his way to the bathroom as quietly as possible, trying not to wake Draco. As soon as he’s relieved his bladder though, Harry’s stomach protests the idea of going back to bed. Apparently, that’s what happens when you forget to eat for a day, Harry muses. He heads for the kitchen, hoping Kreacher is awake. Of course, his elf always seems to be awake. After a quick breakfast Harry owls the restaurant he was supposed to visit yesterday, apologising for missing his reservation and asking if it would be possible to get a new reservation today instead. The affirmative reply arrives just as Draco wakes up, and Harry grins at him. 

“Hey, g’ morning. Sorry about yesterday.” Harry says, pouring a cup of coffee for his date-to-be.

“Good morning, how are you feeling today?” Draco asks, smiling through a yawn. 

“Better. Not 100% you know, but definitely better. And definitely date ready” Harry says, “that is, if you still want to? I wouldn’t blame you if not, but well, I want to.” Harry appreciates that Draco had been able to be so open about looking forward to their date yesterday, because it makes it a whole lot easier for Harry to be open about wanting to go now. 

“Oh I definitely want to” Draco says. “You’re not the only one with plans for date night” he says, and winks. Actually winks and Harry’s pretty sure all of the blood in his body is either in is groin or in his face. 

“Oh, uhm, I yeah” Harry says, not even daring to meet Draco’s eyes. 

“Kreacher tells me we’re moving?” Draco says, and Harry smiles gratefully at the distraction.

“Uh, yeah. I figured, you know, this flat isn’t really a home, is it? And it turns out I’ve inherited a house or two.” Harry says sheepishly. 

“From what I understand you’ve inherited two mansions, a town house, a cottage, a plot and a holiday home” Draco smirks. 

“Well yeah. If Grimauldplace is anything to go by though, I don’t want to step foot in either of the Black estates. Maybe we could burn the one in France to the ground and build something nice, without the severed house-elf heads.” Harry says, grimacing. 

“Yes, from what my mother has told me, the Black mansion is not a place you want to be living.” says Draco, mirroring Harry’s disgusted expression. 

“Oh fuck, right!” Harry says. “Your mother grew up there didn’t she? Well it’s hers if she wants it, or yours. It wasn’t really mine to inherit. I err, well” Harry hesitates, “I was kinda hoping you’d want to keep living with me though. And I mean I know we’re not, there, like we haven’t even gone on one date yet, but I just, eerh”

“Harry! I like living with you, I’d love to keep doing it. Breathe.” Draco says, smiling kindly. “Also, you can’t just give me or my mum the Black properties, do you have any idea what they’re worth?”

“I’ve no idea to be honest. I know I’d be glad to be rid of them though. I can’t bring myself to just sell them, because I feel like they aren’t mine to sell, but I don’t really want to own them either.” Harry says, accepting Draco’s slight change of topic. If he doesn’t need a big talk on moving together, then Harry won’t make one. 

“Well, I think my mother would like them actually. If only to burn it to the ground herself, or sell it off to muggles.” Draco laughs. Harry gives him a puzzled look. “She hated her parents, and I think it’s only gotten worse after this whole war business. I guess she might totally renovate it as well, reclaim it or something.”

“Your mother is a strange person” Harry says, not thinking. He’s relieved when Draco doesn’t look annoyed though.

“That she is indeed.” He says, with a fond smile. “So it’s the Potter mansion or cottage then?”

“Yeah,” says Harry, already tearing up at remembering it all. “Did Kreacher tell you what they named it? The cottage?”

“He didn’t, why?”

“Harry’s cottage. They called it Harry’s cottage. I don’t know if they wanted me to have it when I got older, or if they thought it would be like a vacation home. But my parents built a cottage for me.” Harry explains, smiling through the tears he’s shed. 

“Harry, that’s wonderful! I’ll come with you to see it if you want. And the mansion, if you want to see that too.” Draco says, leaning in to embrace Harry.

The hug feels so right Harry feels like he can’t breathe. But then he does, and he breathes in the wonderful scent that’s all Draco. Soap, smoke, ink and something Harry can’t quite put his finger on. 

“You’ll really come with me? That would be perfect! And, er, you wouldn’t mind? Living in the cottage even though I have a mansion. I know we haven’t seen the places yet, but..”

“Harry, I grew up in a manor. I think I’ve had my fill of long hallways and dozens of empty rooms. The manor never felt like home, I want a place that feels like home.”

Harry can’t help himself anymore, he pulls out of the embrace only enough to softly touch his lips to Draco’s. The soft sigh, and slight opening of lips he gets in return spurs him on, and the soft kiss grows deeper. Harry could swear he feels Draco in every cell in his body. It’s not the kind of electric feeling he’s read about in books. It’s more, it’s deeper. It feels like slowly thawing in a warm bathtub after being outside in the cold. Like laying down in a clean bed when you’re really tired, or like the first signs of spring after a long winter. It feels like coming home. 

Harry doesn’t want to pull away, even for air, but eventually he has to. At some point his hands have ended up in Draco’s hair, and they stand like that for a while. Harry’s hands in Draco’s hair, Draco’s hands on Harry’s chin. Face to face, breathing hard. It’s Draco who leans in the second time, and it’s just as amazing. Actually, Harry thinks, it’s better. This time he’s prepared for the intense sensations, and he can enjoy them better. He can feel his fingers running through Draco’s hair, and the softness of it as it runs through his fingers. He feels Draco’s hand on his back, pulling him impossibly closer. Harry feels his own erection strain at his jeans, and he’s embarrassed until he realises Draco is just as hard. Harry pushes his hips closer to Draco, pressing his erection into the other man’s leg. It feels so good Harry can’t help the whimper he releases into the kiss. 

“Fuck” Draco says. “I want you Harry. You have no idea how much I want you.” And those words release something in Harry. Suddenly he isn’t embarrassed at all, suddenly he realises that this is Draco. His best friends Draco, whom he’s laughed and cried with for years now. 

“Well I think I have some idea” Harry says, smirking, and places his hand directly over Draco’s crotch. He can’t help the sharp intake of breath at the feel of Draco’s cock, even through his jeans. Draco moans, hiding his face in Harry’s neck. 

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me, Harry?” Draco mumbles without moving his head. Harry shivers at the sensation of lips moving against his neck.

“Well you aren’t the only one sporting a hard-on” Harry says, pushing his groin into Draco’s leg to emphasize his point, and immediately groaning in pleasure. 

“We should probably, aah” Draco moans, pushing into Harry’s hand, “wait, we have a date”

“Do you want to wait?” Harry asks, slightly out of breath. 

“Fuck no” Draco says, leaning in to kiss Harry again. Harry feels Draco pushing against his hand, and he realises he’s grinding into Draco’s leg. 

“Yeah, me neither” Harry says, breathless as their kiss breaks. 

“Then bed,” Draco demands, “now.”

Harry had thought his first time with Draco had been the best thing his body was capable of experiencing. He had been wrong. The first time had been good, wonderful, but it had also been sad and angsty and unsure. This time though, this time it was all good. They both knew what the other wanted, they both knew how the other looked. And more importantly Harry wasn’t as insecure about his scars or his own body, because Draco already knew. The first time had felt impossible, this time it all felt inevitable. It was right, and it was home.

Afterwards there was no anxiety, no guilt. It was just Harry, curled up against Draco, both still naked. It was the morning sun through the window that wasn’t annoying like it felt most mornings, it was just relaxing and beautiful. Everything was relaxing and beautiful. 

“So, uh, that was amazing” Harry says, breaking the comfortable silence. 

“It was” says Draco, and Harry hears his smile even though he can’t see him. “It was perfect.”

“So, uh, are we like, dating now?” Harry says, and he isn’t insecure like he thought he would be. He’s just, calm. Calm and happy.

“Harry Potter, my boyfriend” Draco says, “I like it.”

“Say it again” Harry says, grinning,

Draco pulls at his shoulder, and Harry turns around to face his now-boyfriend.

“My boyfriend” Draco says again, and kisses him. It’s the most tacky thing Harry has ever taken part in, and he fucking loves it. 

“HARRY JAMES FUCKING POTTER WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU I AM FREAKING OUT!” Ron’s voice shouts, filling the whole room and making both Harry and Draco jump and hasten to cover up. They soon realise Ron isn’t actually in the room though, instead there is a red howler floating next to the bed. “HERMIONE JUST EXPLODED ALL OVER THE FLOOR HARRY! THERE IS WATER! ON THE FLOOR! FROM HER VAGINA HARRY! THE BABY IS COMING AND I’M PRETTY SURE I FORGOT TO BUY DIAPERS. HOW DID I FORGET THE DIAPERS. I AM GOING TO BE A TERRIBLE FATHER AND MY BABY WILL NEVER HAVE DIAPERS, AND NOW I HAVE TO TAKE HERMIONE TO HOSPITAL AND YOU AREN’T HERE HARRY! YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN HERE WHEN SCARY SHIT HAPPENS, AND LET ME TELL YOU THIS IS A WHOLE LOT FUCKING SCARIER THAN A FOREST OF GIANT SPIDERS. I NEED YOU TO COME TO THE HOSPITAL NOW, OK? Oh, and bring Draco. Draco and diapers, Harry.”

As soon as the howler bursts into flame, Draco burst out laughing. Harry though, bursts into action. He’s up and dressed before Draco has even finished laughing.

“Draco, come on! We have to go. Hermione is having a baby. An actual baby Draco!” Harry says, impatient. 

“Ok, ok, calm down I’m coming.” Draco says, laughter still in his eyes. 

“Hurry!” Harry says. He runs over to the closet and pulls out his, ‘just-in-case’ bag, then runs straight to the kitchen to fill in the snacks he’s kept there for this day. 

“Harry, what’s that bag?” Draco asks, walking into the kitchen fully clothed. 

“It’s my just-in-case bag” Harry says, trying to force a bottle of pop down the side pocket of the bag. 

“And what exactly is a just-in-case bag?”

“It’s all the things people at the hospital might need when Hermione goes into labour. Just in case anyone forgot something. Like the diapers.”

“You have a bag of diapers?” Draco asks, and starts laughing again.

“Of course I have a bag of diapers,” Harry says, smiling, finally calm enough to see the humour. “Ron and Hermione are having a baby.”

“Come on then boyfriend” Draco says, “off to hospital it is.”

Harry is still grinning as he grabs Draco’s hand for the side-along. Harry isn’t at all surprised to find the entirety of the Weasley-clan sat in the waiting room of the hospital. He is however surprised to see Hermione there, face twisted in pain. 

“Hermione! Why aren’t you in a hospital room?” Harry asks immediately, deciding to greet the family later. 

“I’m still waiting to be admitted Harry. It’s no rush, really.” Hermione explains, and immediately groans in pain again. 

“You’re in pain Hermione! I say there is a rush!” Harry says, feeling panicked all over again. 

“I’ve only just gone into active labour Harry, it typically takes 4 or 5 hours before I have to start pushing. And then it might take another two hours before the baby comes.”

Harry feels Draco place a calming hand on his shoulder, and he forces himself to breathe. He’s here to help Ron and Hermione, not freak out. 

“Ok, me and Draco will go get you a room. Where is Ron?” Harry asks, realising his friend isn’t among the other red-heads.

“He went to get Hermione a room, dear” Molly says, smiling at her adopted children. Harry is pretty sure she’s already noticed that he and Draco are acting a bit different together, but he can’t be bothered to worry about that now. 

Harry pulls Draco with him through the crowd of people in the waiting-room, and through to the entrance hall, which is even more crowded. Thankfully Ron’s bright hair makes him easy to spot, and Harry immediately navigates to where his friend is apparently arguing with a nurse. 

“..-is in labour RIGHT NOW. There was water on the floor, she is in pain and she needs a room and a doctor right now!” Ron yells, as Harry and Draco reaches him.

“You still don’t have a room?” Harry asks Ron, giving him what he hopes is a supportive pat on the back. 

“No, we don’t” Ron says, shooting angry glares at the nurse “because this bloody idiot insists there is a ‘queuing system’”

Harry looks at the nurse, and sees that the man at least has the sense to look a little scared. He’s about to open his mouth to help Ron yell abuse at the man that stands between Hermione and a doctor when Draco steps in. 

“Nurse,” Draco pauses to look at the nametag on the man’s chest, “Abny, is it?”

The nurse opens his mouth to reply, but Draco doesn’t let him. “Nurse Abny, do you know the people standing here next to me? One of them is Harry Potter, the man who sacrificed himself to save you and everyone else in this hospital. He also happens to be one of the wealthiest wizards in Britain.” Draco says, voice so cold it reminds Harry of the boy he knew when they were both fourteen. “Now, I’m sure you know that his friend, Ronald here and his pregnant girlfriend, Hermione, were instrumental in helping with the defeat of the man whose name would make you piss your lime green pants. In addition, Ms. Granger holds an influential position in the ministry for magic, and Mr. Weasley here is about to be an auror. I myself have grown up learning how to make a person’s life particularly unpleasant.” Draco says, pausing for effect. “Now, Nurse Abny, trust me when I tell you that if Hermione Granger doesn’t find herself in a nice private room within the next ten minutes, me, Harry, Ronald and Hermione will pool all our collective resources into not only making sure this hospital faces a bad reputation and bankruptcy, but also ensuring your life will be a living hell.”

Nurse Abny appears to lose all ability to speak for several seconds. Mouth opening and closing like a stranded fish. 

“Well?” Draco demands.

“Of course, yes, naturally. Come with me, I’ll take you to your room straight away.” the nurse stammers, following Ron as he leads the way to his girlfriend. Draco moves to follow, but Harry holds him back.

“That was brilliant!” Harry grins at his boyfriend.  
“Really? I was worried you’d be mad about the whole ‘Harry Potter saviour of the world’ bit.” Draco says, biting his lip.

“In other circumstances I would be, when it comes to helping my friends? Not a bit. You were awesome, and honestly? Really fucking hot” Harry says, whispering the last part to make sure only Draco hears. 

“I should boss people around more often then” Draco says, blushing. 

Hermione had been right about the labour taking hours. Thankfully, Draco’s intimidation had worked perfectly and she got not only a private room, but one with a private waiting room for the extended family. Harry’s ‘just-in-case’ bag was greatly appreciated as he produced yarn and knitting needles for Molly, a ‘electricity for dummies’ book for Arthur, diapers, a deadly boring book for Hermione to read between contractions, playing cards and food and drink for the whole family. 

Fred was the first to actually point out something had changed between Harry and Draco. Of course, being Fred, he didn’t ask about the hand holding or stolen glances. He asked loudly if Harry had meant for that hickey to be showing, and pointed out that they sold something for that at the shop. It earned him a smack on the head from Molly, but it made everyone laugh. Breaking the tension of the hospital waiting room. 

When Ron brought out a small bundle hours later, and invited them all to meet his daughter, Rose, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Molly dressed the baby in her fresh-of-the-needles hat, and Arthur decided the baby had his ears. 

“Do you want to hold your god-daughter?” Ron asked, holding the bundle out to Harry after the grand parents had their turn. 

Standing there, holding his god-daughter, being held by Draco, surrounded by the Weasley family Harry finally knew he had experienced true happiness. Had experienced home, and love and family. And he knew that despite depression lurking around every corner, he would never ever leave. He was home, and he was safe.


	17. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this straight after chapter 16, so make sure you read that first. This is the end of the story, and I just want to thank everyone who has read, commented and left kudos along the way! It's really what kept me motivated to finish the story. I know there are still spelling and gramatic mistakes, so if you notice any please leave a comment and I'll fix it. And if you're still here, thank you for sticking around to the end!

_”Somehow, I dragged myself out of the dark and asked for help. I spin and weave and knit my words and visions until a life starts to take shape. There is no magic cure, no making it all go away forever. There are only small steps upward; an easier day, an unexpected laugh. I am thawing.”_ Laurie Halse Anderson

I wouldn’t call myself recovered, I don’t think I ever will. Maybe it doesn’t matter though. Maybe it isn’t about being cured. I work three days a week now, in this muggle pre-school in town. I don’t really need the money, but I need something to do with my days, a reason to get out of bed. The kids give me reason. They have no idea who the boy who lived is, but they all know Harry. They know me, and every day when I show up for work they crowd around me for hugs. I know I’m not ready to have kids of my own, maybe I’ll never be. Maybe I don’t want to be. I do kidnap Rose from time to time, and I love her more than words. Still, it feels pretty good when I can hand her back to Ron and Hermione at the end of the day and curl up in bed with Draco. 

Draco is perfect, at least for me. He’s snarky and rude, and he never means a word of it. I woke up today and just looked at him in awe, at the incredible man he’s turned into. And at how lucky I am to have him. To be allowed to love him, to have him love me back. He doesn’t cure me either, I still think about dying a lot and he can’t take that away. But he gives me hope, he gives me reason. He makes me want to not want to die, and most days that’s close enough. We’ve made a home for ourselves in the cottage. It took a while to just clean out the dust. And then for me to get ready to make it my home, not a museum to my parents. We’ve gotten there though. Now, when I walk through the doors I just know that it’s home. I think it’s starting to act more and more like a magical home as well, I’m almost certain that’s why the door to the small cupboard doesn’t close when I’m in there anymore. Maybe it’s the reason the roses and lilies Draco planted hasn’t died yet either, even though it’s the middle of winter. 

Speaking of homes, Narcissa moved back to England. She took the Black manor and turned it into a muggle hotel. The thought always makes me smile. I’m not sure she’s as accepting of muggles as she claims to be, but I think she wants to. And sometimes intension is what matters. I’m still not sure what to do with the Potter manor yet, but I’m sure inspiration will strike. All I know is that I don’t want to let it stand alone and uninhabited anymore. It’s time to move on, fill houses with life and laughter, maybe even some sadness and anger. It’s time to make the houses homes. 

I got another tattoo. Or several actually. One is a rose, and with my god-daughters name I think it’s pretty obvious what it’s for. I also got a small snake around my ankle, and the constellation Draco on my upper arm. I know-I know, getting romantic tattoos are bad. I refuse to live in the what-if anymore though. And Draco loves them, I think the next time I get a tattoo it will have to be in a more sensitive spot. That way it will feel even better when he licks and kisses them.

**Author's Note:**

> The comments on this fic have been the most heart-warming and heart-breaking things I've ever read. So many of you know all too well the feelings Harry are struggling with in this fic. I've been wanting to list some recourses here, for people who are having a hard time. Your comments are always welcome here, of course, but I want everyone to have the help they need, and I can't really offer anything more than understanding. So, some sites etc. that have helped me out over the years:
> 
> 7cups.com and imalive.org – offers free listeners so you’ll always have someone to talk to. 
> 
> Online groups helped me out a lot, but the ones I’ve been part of don’t exist anymore. Here is one I found, but beware that sites like this can be quite triggering. https://www.dailystrength.org/group/self-injury
> 
> I struggle with sleep, or overthinking a lot. Listening to things as I fall asleep, or at least relax in bed helps me a lot. I’ve listened to Harry Potter audiobooks and podfics mostly, but this site also has some good storied to calm your mind: https://www.calm.com/sleep
> 
> I want to list helplines for every country out there, but it would be too long for an AN. If you google “suicide” though, you should get a number for a local hotline. Most of them are generally for mental health, meaning you don’t have to be suicidal to use it. 
> 
> The Trevor Project is great for LGBTQ youth, and has phone, texts and chat.
> 
> For me personally, seeing a therapist has been so, so important. I strongly encourage anyone with opportunity to see one, even if it has to be online. I do recognize though, that not everyone has this opportunity. I also know it can be scary as hell, it took me years to work up the courage. 
> 
> Stay safe <3


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